


Bell, Book, and Candle

by Trivialqueen



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: AU-Janine and Egon live happily ever after, Dana/Peter, Egon Spengler is to blame for my nerd fetish, F/M, Gratuitous footnote abuse, I will blind no one with science - I'm a historian, JaninEgon is one of my first OTPs, Janine/Egon - Freeform, Jazz is Janine's Jam, Peter Venkman Professional Bad Influence (TM), Ray/OFC - Freeform, SMUTTY SMUT, Winston/OFC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trivialqueen/pseuds/Trivialqueen
Summary: Ring the bell. Close the book. Quench the candle. Time to show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown. An AU telling of the 1984 Ghostbusters film. Janine/Egon, Dana/Peter, OFC/Ray, OFC/Winston. Warnings: Gratuitous footnote abuse, swearing, sexual content in thought, word, and deed.





	1. Author's Preface

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

**Author’s Preface **[1]****

 This is very much a fan work, a fixfic, if you will. It has been said that Harold Ramis was unsure of the Egon/Janine subplot, stating that he felt it awkward. I can understand this, Ghostbusters was a horror/comedy film written by comedians. There was also already romance in the Peter/ Dana storyline. The required finesse for Janine and Egon would have been an entire movie in and of itself. They didn’t have time for that, but I do. And so, I present to you a revised Egon/Janine friendly version of Ghostbusters one and two. Obviously, I am drawing heavily from the scripts of the first two films, the action will be near identical, however, I hope to get inside the character’s heads and examine their feelings, fears, and motivations. I will also draw on the Real Ghostbuster’s cartoon for some background and part of the timeline. This piece is pure AU and is AU to all Universes (Ghostbusters I, II, 2016, the Real Ghostbusters and Extreme Ghostbusters) but does overlap some and endeavors to include the more major plot points of all universes.

 

The major differences in all the canons will include, but are not limited to:

  * All characters will resemble their film likenesses (the first film specifically). I have one rule: No rattails. Carton Egon violates this in a major way.
  * Obviously, as this is a JaninEgon fic the Ghostbusters II relationship between Louis and Janine will not happen, nor will Janine’s fashion in the second film. Also, because this is a JaninEgon fic the events of later Ghostbuster plots (mainly the cartoons) will be altered to align with Janine and Egon marrying, having kids, and all that other married person jazz. Peter and Dana will also have a place in my story, unlike in the cartoons. And unlike in the movies and the cartoons Ray and Winston will also get some love. Later… eventually.
  * I have played fast and loose with the timeline of this movie/story. In the film I think it suggests that all of the events from the library until the final battle took place within like a month. Makes sense in movie logic but I can’t imagine in “reality” all that stuff could have happened in four weeks. Updating the firehouse alone had to have taken time. Their popularity and reputation – especially in the news media had to have taken more than 24 hours. Real romance takes more than two weeks. Anyway, this is the new timeline of this universe: The story opens in early spring (like March). Janine is hired sometime in like, April/May, “Slimer” is captured in July. For the purpose of this story the final battle will take place around Halloween.
  * A handful of Original Characters will be introduced throughout this story, hopefully you enjoy them, or at least not hate them.



 

Ghostbusters I, II, 2016 © Columbia. The Real Ghostbusters and the Extreme Ghostbusters © Saturday Morning. Mistakes, inaccuracies, continuity errors, anachronisms, blatant OoC moments and annoying original characters © moi.

 

* * *

[1]The name, _Bell, Book, and Candle_ , is in reference to the 1958 movie with Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak. The movie takes its title from the three components of excommunication, though at the time the playwriter mistakenly identified them as components of an exorcism.  In either case I am certain the Ghostbusters will wind up dealing with bells, books, and candles in their line of work.


	2. I

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

 

Spring was late coming; although the calendar said it should have been there weeks ago damp winds and overcast skies still told the story of winter. The ugliness outside made the oaken reading room of the New York Public Library a bookworm’s paradise. Warmed by the golden glow of green glass shaded lights reflecting off of smooth worn tables, as well as central heating, the library stood in peaceful grandeur. Alice Stout, a sixty-year-old veteran of the library wound her way through the tables, picking up discarded books, the wheels of her metal cart and her low heel pumps the only sounds disturbing the serenity of the Manhattan landmark.

Moving from the public space to the sorting room Alice paused. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, her subconscious feeling what her senses had yet to recognize. After a beat she continued on, shaking her graying head at her own silliness. _You’re sixty years old_ she thought _the only people watching you are in charge of your social security._ Mind at ease once again she set about her sorting, judging the reader by their book. So much was revealed by a person’s choice of reading material and in one room interested stretched from the Nuremburg Trials to a trashy romance novel set in the Civil War-torn South.

The hair on the back of her neck was on end again. Alice had been flipping through _The Joy of Cooking_ when she felt the eyes that had followed her on her rounds bore into her back once again. Quickly she shut the book, perhaps it was Roger. Roger Delacorte was the head librarian. A skittish man made even more so by recent funding constraints. He was charged with the task of making thousands of dollars appear in the budget. Fundraising was going slowly, and if he was looking for someone to fire he’d best not be looking at her. A reason for the eyes put a purpose in the older woman’s step. Fire her? Over her dead body!

That was when she felt the draft, icy cold on her back and out of place in an aisle far from the door and walled on one side by fiction, the other by the impressive card catalog. Slowly Alice turned; the eyes and the breeze had intensified. A tornado of cards and… and a face was the last thing she remembered.

**X**

“Alright, what is it?” The Carnac the Magnificent hand gesture was perhaps the least ridiculous thing about the afro-ed sophomore before him Dr. Peter Venkman decided, watching as the kid cracked his gum and stared at the oversized ESP card in his hand.[1]

“A square?” Afro boy asked, Venkman turned over the card, a star on its face.

“Good guess, but no.” He pressed a button on the table and took slightly sadistic pleasure in watching the annoying child spit his gum out at the shock of the electrodes on his fingertips. Peter turned to the coed, a thin blonde girl who certainly thought she was pretty. He gave her a smile and some honeyed words, it was vital that she thought that he thought that she was pretty as well.

“Now just clear our mind and tell me what you see.” He schmoozed, holding up a circle card. She gave him a vacant look that seemed to pass for deep thought, as least to the untrained eye. Peter Venkman’s eyes, however, were very well trained. He was a psychologist. And he could tell that she was used to not having to think hard.

“Is it a star?” She finally asked. She had one of those Marilyn Monroe voices, the fake damsel breathless sound that women thought men found attractive.

“It is a star! That’s great!” He exclaimed feigning surprise. “You’re very good.” The girl preened. No one asked to see the card. Peter turned back to the boy who’d popped his gum back in his mouth and was chewing it like cud. No wonder the kid had nothing better to do on a thirsty Thursday – he wasn’t exactly the Fonz.[2]

The truth was it didn’t matter if the card in his hand was a diamond and the kid thought it was a circle, or if the girl suggested symbols not even found in the deck – she would always be right, and the boy would always be wrong. That was it, the cards could be blank. ESP was hardly interesting and not at all what he was truly studying. Parapsychology was a ruse to cover for his actual interests. Namely becoming the next Kinsey.[3]He wanted to see how his flirtatious behavior and false praise would affect this girl, how conceded she was and to what degree would she be so vain as to not notice he was lying. Would she really take his inappropriate behavior as flattery? And the boy, how long until he got pissed off and left? It was playing with fire, but Peter had always been a bit of a pyro.

It took another six cards to get the sophomore out the door, leaving in dramatics. Throwing the electrodes down and slamming the door. Venkman would pay him, even though the kid had told him to take the money and shove it. He’d been a good sport, even if a dork. Venkman turned back to the subject and shrugged, now to the heart of the experiment.

“Well,” he said giving her the eyes, “I guess some people have it and some don’t.” He waited for her reaction and she gave him data in spades.

“Do you think I have it, Dr. Venkman?” she asked with a mix of sexual allure and a need to be complimented. She was his most interesting case yet. Others had accepted his flirting, but she was the first to flirt back. Now it was to be seen – did she flirt because she needed the validation, because he had authority, or because she was actually attracted to him? Peter smiled. It was going to be fun finding out. There were times he really loved his job.

“Drop everything Venkman, we got one.” And times he didn’t.

Dr. Raymond Stantz burst through the door like a hurricane. Ray was Peter’s best friend and colleague, they’d known each other forever it seemed, but that didn’t stop Peter from wanting to strangle his fellow professor and officemate. He’d been in a delicate position and Stantz might have blown it.

“Excuse me for a minute.” Peter told the Coed who gave him a heavy-lidded look. Ray would never deliberately interfere with Peter’s work; he was too good a scientist for that. However, Stantz didn’t know about Peter’s true work, no one did. He couldn’t risk feeling ‘guilty’ about his research and how it was possibly ‘unethical’, ‘underhanded’, and ‘smarmy’ until his tests were completed, and the results only needed to be interpreted.

“Ray,” Peter said in a low voice, the blonde was still watching him. He tried to watch her as well, but it was hard. Ray’s brown eyes were glittering like a child at Christmas. “I’m right in the middle of something here, can you come back in an hour?” he looked deliberately at the girl who winked at him. _Damn you Ray Stantz!_ Venkman cursed mentally, but Ray’s childlike excitement was palpable.

“Peter!” Ray gushed, “At approximately 1:40 this afternoon at the main branch of the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue TEN people witnessed a free-roaming, vaporous full torso apparition.” It was as if ten people just saw Santa Clause. Venkman was impressed, especially since he didn’t believe in ‘Vaporous apparitions’ full torso-ed or not. Parapsychology had gelled well with his degree aspirations in college and he had an amazing assistantship, another year, another degree – he was all for it. Now parapsychology was an excellent rouse for his true intentions. No one expected ulterior motives from a guy with ESP flashcards.

“…It blew books from shelves at twenty feet away! Scared the socks off some poor librarian.” Ray has still been talking, Peter racked his brain to try and pick up any important information. The Coed flipped her hair at him. If he was going to be the next Kinsey he had to get Ray out of there.

“Sure.” He said slipping into his default mode of sarcasm and indifference. “That’s great Ray.” He pushed him toward the door. “I think you should get down there right away and check things out. Let me know what happens.” Ray resisted.

“This one’s for real Peter! Spengler went down and took some PKE readings – Right off the top of the scale. Buried the needle! I’ve got a good feeling about this – we’re close!” Peter turned back to the Coed. _Well shit._ He gave Stantz a dirty look before turning back to his research.

“Give me a second.” Venkman told Ray; crossing to the Coed he put his smoothest smile into place.

“I have to leave now.” He told her, amazed at the amount of condescension he could put into his voice and how vacant her expression was. “If you’ve got some time I’d like you to comeback this evening and do some more work with me.”

“Eight o’clock?” The blonde purred. _Lord have mercy_ Venkman thought _what a piece of research_.

“I was just going to say, ‘eight o’clock’” he lied, “You’re fantastic.” The look she gave him told him he didn’t know the half of it. _This had better be good_ , Peter mentally groused, it was costing him a whopper.

Venkman and Stantz arrived at the library a taxi ride later. They found their third colleague in the reading room. Physicist Egon Spengler was seated on the floor, cross legged, stethoscope plugged into his ears as he listened to a table. _A table_. Peter rolled his eyes, he couldn’t decide what was more amazing: the fact that child–prodigy three times a Doctor Spengler was involved at all with what most considered the pseudoscience of the paranormal or that the guy listening to a table was a world-renowned genius.

But that was Egon, 6’2” of absolute science and not a lick of sense. Peter and Egon had met in graduate school - they’d shared an office. Venkman wouldn’t say the experience made them friends, mainly because he was still hazy as to whether or not Spegs had friends, but the time together did make Peter worry about the guy. He was walking proof that the smarter a person was the dumber they could be. The genius didn’t hear them approach; he was too absorbed in the wood grain. Peter rapped on the table top. No response. Smirking he reached for the cinderblock sized novel that rested on the table.

**X**

In human anatomical terms the leg was actually the distance between the knee and ankle, the thigh was the portion of the lower limb between hip and knee. Colloquially the lower limb was known as a leg. The ‘leg’ was an evolutionary marvel, allowing for bipedal locomotion, what separated man from animals.

Doctor Egon Spengler had seen numerous legs in his time, there were eight million people in New York City alone, the majority of them having two legs. He had also spent several years as a coroner, making money for college. It was correct, if imprecise to say that he had seen a lot of legs. He had, however, never seen a pair like those walking through his line of vision.

There were many who questioned what Egon Spengler was doing in the field of Parapsychology, many of them being in his own family. The Spengler name was synonymous with good science and other scholarly pursuits. To have the great name associated with such a disdainful subject nothing short of a travesty as far as his family was concerned. Egon could only counter their scorn with the simple reasoning that every claim needed to be checked out to the fullest of the scientific method. Ghosts were a substantial claim that had yet to be properly explored with credible procedures. This was his motivation even if he did not convince his parents he was not a quack.

This was the reason that Egon Spengler, Doctor of Physics, biology, parapsychology, engineer, and board-certified coroner was seated on the floor of the New York Public Library, stethoscope in his ears, PKE meter in his hand.[4]One of the theories behind Ghosts was that physical objects, such as tables and chairs, retained the energy of a person or persons. It would then project the energy long after the person who used the object left. The table he was beside was the oldest in the reading room, if any object had stored residual energy it would be this reading table. He had just begun his energy examination of the desk when something caught his eye. Something of the mortal plane.

Exceptionally high longitudinal arches sloped up from the toe box of a pair of red high heel shoes. The four-inch heels causing a shift in the center of gravity of the wearer and the _triceps surae_ to flex. The ankles were slim, if slightly over pronated and the definition in the _curs_ was outstanding. Egon watched in fascination as friction moved the limbs forward, his eyes traveling up with a biological impulse called desire. Her quads were outlined by a synthetic leather skirt, the hemline of which fell a few inches above her _patellas_. His eyes traveled up to watch her nicely rounded _Glutimis maximus_ flex as she walked. A red jacket concealed her waist-to-hip ratio and exaggerated her shoulders greatly but judging by the bone structure of her legs he felt confident in saying that this woman fell within the Western definition of beauty. Not only that but also bore all the markers of a reproductively desirable mate.

She read as she walked, large reading glasses perched on a pert nose. From behind his own prescription lenses he watched her, everything else in the world falling away except for those legs.

CRASH.

A deafening thunder in his ears brought the thinking machine back to reality. Egon’s body responded to the sudden stimuli with a jump. He carefully removed the stethoscope earbuds, his eardrums only _feeling_ as if they were bleeding for he detected no blood on the ear pieces. He looked about trying to determine what caused the stimuli. Behind him stood Doctors Ray Stantz and Peter Venkman. Venkman’s hand was on a hard-covered copy of Tolstoy’s _War and Peace_ , it appeared massive enough to cause a 115-decibel sound if brought down firmly on the table top. Ockham’s razor; Venkman was the cause.[5]

Egon and Peter had shared an office in Graduate school at Columbia. The closer proximity had bred neither contempt nor children, as the humorous and writer Mark Twain once famously hypothesized, but instead a cooperative and supportive inter-personal relationship, colloquially known as friendship was the result. After Graduate school both Spengler and Venkman had been hired by Columbia as professors, they along with Ray Stantz would head up a new Parapsychology department, fully funded instead of a mere emphasis area.

Venkman was perhaps Egon’s oldest friend but Stantz shared his scientific sensibilities. Spengler looked at each in turn before saying simply,

“Good. You’re here.”

“What have you got Egon?” Peter asked in a board voice. Egon looked over his shoulder to where the legs had been, she was gone. He shook himself and turned back to Venkman.

“According to the PKE readings there is definitely something here, something of exceptional magnitude.” Peter gave him a blank look.

“Just say ‘big’ Egon. You know, this reminds me of the time you tried to drill a hole in your head, do you remember that?” Trephination had been around for centuries but for some reason people were not keen on studying it.[6]

“It would have worked if you hadn’t stopped me.” Egon replied defensively. Peter was a good friend, quite useful in social situations, but his language was far from precise and his scientific curiosity was rather stunted.  Before further discussion could be made a choleric, middle-aged civil servant in an over starched suit hurried over too meet them. It was the head librarian, Mr. Delacorte. He introduced himself in a slightly strained tone.

“Hello, I’m Roger Delacorte – the head librarian. Are you the men from the university?”

The immortal, if fictional Detective Sherlock Holmes once famously said, “It is a capitol mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.” This was the reason for the through set of questions Dr. Venkman asked the witness. Egon watched with scientific detachment as Stantz and Venkman made the librarian comfortable. Typically, Dr. Spengler liked to be present for the interviews despite several different sources telling him that he lacked what they called ‘people skills’. He and Ray had conducted hundreds of interviews in their years with the department, each one providing valuable insight into the paranormal and human conditions. Usually, he liked to study the witness as they were interviewed, but today he seemed to lack the focus. It distressed him greatly to find his mind fixated upon the female from earlier… and her legs. He wanted to find her, see her again. He was utterly aghast at this frivolous train of thought. He shook his dark head, recalling some ‘words of wisdom’ his father, Darwin Spengler, had once imparted upon him.

“Egon,” Darwin had said firmly, “the only way to be a true scientist is to rid yourself of distraction. Objective observation requires your full and constant attention.” Shame was an emotion Egon was only mildly familiar with, but it was now being experienced. He stood taller and with a renewed resolve and focus he tuned his PKE meter, devoting himself to the nuances of the Library’s energy. The female and her alluring legs shoved to the back of his mind with the rest of the frivolous external stimuli he deemed unscientific and irrelevant.

**X**

Mrs. Alice Stout was a woman in her sixties and reminded Peter of every stereotype of an old woman he’d ever heard of. From her reedy voice to her frumpy clothes to the faint smell of apricots that hung on her aged frame. He was skeptical. Old people were notorious for being a few fries short of a happy meal. A ghost could be the medication talking. Yet in the name of science he pulled up a chair next to the stretcher Mrs. Stout was reclining on, receiving oxygen after her horrible ordeal. He spoke in his best Grandson tone – soothing, respectful, and most importantly he sounded interested in what she had to say. Off to the side Ray stood with Mr. Delacorte, the former was recording everything with palpable joy, the latter was silently fretting. He seemed to be a very twitchy man.

“Alright, ma’m, just a few questions.” Peter began. “Have you or has any member of your family ever been diagnosed schizophrenic or mentally incompetent?” The librarian paused.

“Well, my uncle thought he was Saint Jerome.” _The patron saint of librarians, really?_ “Do you, yourself, habitually use drugs, alcohol, or other stimulants?”

“No.” The woman said, a little insulted at the question. _Of course not,_ Peter thought, _you were probably the model of virtue back in the dark ages._

“I thought not.” Peter reassured her. “One last procedural question, I have to ask; Are you currently menstruating?”

“What’s _that_ got to do with it?!” The retting head librarian asked aghast.

“Back off man, I’m a scientist.” Peter loved when he got to say that. Just then Spengler stuck his egghead in, looking excited – by Egon standards.

“It’s moving.” He told them. For being slightly overweight Stantz was out of the room faster than a high schooler at a busted fraternity party. Venkman followed, not really caring if the librarian was on the rag or not.

Spengler silently led them down a tightly spiraled iron staircase and into the stacks. They inched along, Spegs fiddling with the PKE, Ray fairly bouncing with excitement. Peter was thinking of the Coed he was meeting later, _what should he test first?_ Things progressed slowly.

Ray was so excited he could pee. Over Egon’s shoulder he could see the PKE meter, needle slowly climbing with increased activity. They were close. So close. A free-roaming, vaporous, full-torso apparition. And that was when he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye, down an aisle of books.

“Guys!” He exclaimed, ducking down the row, camera not even at his eye before he began to take pictures.

“Symmetrical book stacking!” He crowed, “Just like the Philadelphia mass turbulence of 1947!” Before them was a tower of books, as tall as the shelves surrounding them. Ray circled the tower counterclockwise, snapping pictures from every possible angle as Egon followed behind him with the glowing PKE meter. Peter stood back taking it all in, Ray was sure. Everything he’d read – it was coming true. And they called him crazy! His manic laughter was cut off by Peter.

“You’re right, no human being would stack books like this.” _Jerk._ Venkman was Ray’s best friend but the man was such a downer. He seriously considered flipping the shrink off when something else caught his attention.

“Listen… Do you smell something?” At the end of the bookcases there was something. Egon looked from the book stack to the end of the aisle, his PKE meter flashing again. There was something there.

The PKE meter went first, feeding data back to Egon who understood exactly what each flash and hum meant. Ray followed closely behind the tall physicist; the anticipation was building to a crescendo with each spike of the needle. The card catalog was a mess. Drawers open and cards spilling everywhere greenish yellow goo coated everything. It was ectoplasm. There was something here, it was nearby. They were so close. Ray felt like dancing for joy.

“It’s the real thing.” He whispered in awe. The ever-ready Egon already was having Peter fill petri dishes with samples for the lab. This was exactly what they’d been waiting for, the evidence they needed for legitimacy, long sought and deserved. As Peter hemmed and hawed over ‘mucus’ Egon continued down the aisle, PKE glowing again. The entity was close.

A full body, free-roaming, vaporous apparition. It was right there. Right there in violet hued glory. Ray stopped dead next to Egon, taking in the beauty of it. It – she – was everything his career was working up towards. She was everything he’d ever imagined since he was a child. Right there. The sharp pull on his right ear and Peter’s God-awful nickname for him pulled Raymond Francis Stantz from his stupefied stare.

“Come here Francine.” Venkman grumbled. “What do we do?” He asked, serious for once in his life. Ray looked at Egon, who stared blankly back. They had no plan, finding credible paranormal evidence was hard enough, they’d not thought beyond it. A mistake on their part, clearly.

“This is a vindication of all of our research, validation of all of our claims, we can’t just let her slip by!” Ray whispered earnestly. They were in contact with another plane of existence. This was the stuff of scientific legend. They would go down in history for this. Edison, Newton, Einstein, Stantz, Spengler, and Venkman. The endless possibilities danced in Ray’s eyes as he suggested his plan.

The spectral matron was still there as Ray, Peter, and Egon broke from their huddle, cautious and quiet they crept toward her. She did not look up from the book she was silently leafing through, so prim. Ray wondered if she was one a librarian here herself in another life.

_One…Two…Three…_ Ray counted in his head. “GET HER!” He exclaimed. The ghost turned and roared _QUIET_! In a flash going from gentle looking old woman to a corpse with flaming eyes and flying hair.

They ran. Screaming. All three of them. Not stopping until they were out the door and down the grand staircase of the most definitely haunted public library. Perhaps not their finest, most masculine moment but no one said first contact had to be dignified. The important thing was that it was made. Ghosts existed, and they were as amazing as Ray had hoped. Once the fear and adrenaline finished coursing through his veins Ray let out a great whoop of excitement.

“We’ve done it!” He exclaimed, euphoric. “We’ve done it!”

“ _Get her_? That was your whole plan? You call that science?!” Venkman snapped once had stopped running.

“I guess I got a little over excited but wasn’t it incredible? We actually touched the etheric plane! You know what this could mean for the university?!” Ray asked excitedly, clearly already working on his next journal article.

“Oh yeah, this could be bigger than the microchip. They’ll probably throw out the entire engineering department and turn their building over to us.” Peter snarked. From over the top of his calculator Egon looked up.

“I would not say the experience was a complete waste. Based on these new readings, I think we have an excellent chance of actually catching a ghost and holding it indefinitely.” Peter stopped. His mind reeling. Catch a ghost. Hold a ghost. _Oh. My. God._ Peter caught back up to his colleagues, dollar signs dancing in his head. Screw being the next Kinsey or more respected Freud, this – this - was _big_.

“Spegs are you serious about actually catching a ghost?” The look the Physicist gave him was dryer than the Sahara.

“I’m always serious.” Peter thrust a hand in his jacket pocket and found a Baby Ruth bar. He clapped a hand on the tall nerd’s shoulder,

“Egon, I’m going to take back some of the things I’ve said about you.” He handed him the candy bar. “You deserve it.” Without hesitation Spengler ripped into the chocolaty confection. The man didn’t smoke, Peter had never seen him drink, and he rarely swore - candy was the man’s only vice.[7]

* * *

[1]Carnac the Magnificent was a comedy bit featuring Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show. Carson, the host, would wear a feathered turban and cape and would divine the answers to unseen questions. To divine the answer Carnac would frequently hold the envelope with the question he was supposed to answer to his temple or forehead.

[2]Cud is the portion of food that is returned from a Cow’s stomach because it needs to be chewed a second time.   
“The Fonz” is a nickname for Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli, a fictional character on the sitcom Happy Days (1974-84) played by Henry Winkler.

[3]Alfred Kinsey, founder of the field of Sexology and the institute for Sex Research at Indiana. I can’t decide if having Peter Venkman performing sexist and sexually suggestive experiments on undergraduates without appropriate clearance i.e. an IRB) makes him better or worse than if his motivation was just to sleep with any and all attractive women.

[4]There’s some debate in canon/fanon about Spengler’s degrees, I think with the exception of the IDW trading cards everyone can agree he’s a physicist. In a nod to the trading card information Spengler does have a mycology specialization, mainly out of interest rather than it being helpful with ghosts.

[5]Ockham’s Razor (also spelled Occum’s razor) is a problem-solving principle that simply put, holds that the correct answer to a problem is frequently the one that makes the fewest assumptions – put another way, the simplest answer is usually right.

[6]Trephination is a surgical intervention involving boring a hole in the head to treat intracranial diseases or release blood pressure after injury.  It’s still used by surgeons today, so it’s not so much that we don’t know how it works or what it does, but rather we don’t know how ancient peoples figured it out and used it so effectively.

[7]Candy… and nice legs.


	3. II

Summary: Ring the bell. Close the book. Quench the candle. Time to show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown. An AU telling of the 1984 Ghostbusters film. Peter/Dana, Egon/Janine, Ray/OFC, Winston/OFC. Warnings: Gratuitous footnote abuse, swearing, sexual content in thought, word, and deed.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

** II **

****

“If you guys are right, if we can actually trap a ghost and hold it somehow, I think I could win the Nobel Prize.” Venkman announced as they cut through the main floor of Weaver to the stairs. The first floor was all classrooms with more classes on the second floor as well as some faculty offices, the third floor was the no man’s land they shunted the graduate students into. Paranormal Studies was in the basement in offices beside the boiler room. Natural light was completely overrated.

“If anyone deserves it, it’s Spengler and me.” Ray protested, descending the stairs to the bowels of Weaver Hall. Peter was one of his best friends but sometimes he was too much. “We’re doing all the research and designing the equipment.” Peter did his experiments on ESP and scoffed at his and Egon’s research and methodology more than assisted them in anything. Of course, now that their years of work were turning out to be ‘cool’ Peter was interested.

“Yeah, but I introduced you guys, you never would have bet if not for me. That’s got to count for something.” Peter replied. Egon was lost in his calculations, so Ray rolled his eyes for them both. Peter was Egon’s best friend as well; it struck Ray again what an odd fact that was. Peter was right; however, he was the linchpin in their trio. Now the three of them were on the verge of catching and holding a ghost indefinitely for research!

Workers were swarming through the basement as they approached their office, Peter drafting their acceptance speech and Egon muttering something about acceleration as he ran calculations in his head. Ray’s first thought was that he hoped the workers were there to fix the radiator, it had been making horrible noises even before he and Spengler had casually nicked some parts for their proto-proton packs. His second, when he realized most were near their office, was that they were going to do something about the graffiti. They’d been bugging the custodians for a month to get the ‘Venkman burn in hell’ scrubbed off their door. Ray was half tempted to do it himself. For his part Peter thought the fact it looked like it was written in blood utterly hilarious. But instead of scraping the paint off the glass of their door the janitor had removed all of Peter’s name and half of Ray’s.

“What the shit?” Ray exclaimed as Peter burst through the door, Ray on his heels and Egon’s head actually out of his mini-computer.

Inside their lab, a work crew was not so carefully disassembling all their hard work and research. Ray felt ill and for once was grateful for Venkman’s abrasive personality – the parapsychologist was barreling toward the Dean.

“I trust you’re moving us to better space somewhere on campus.” Dean Yeager drew himself up to his full, wiry height and sneered at Peter.

“No, we are moving you _off campus_. The board of Regents has decided to terminate your grant. You are to vacate these premises immediately.” Ray felt the room spin and he tried to steady himself discretely on Egon who was standing gob smacked looking at the workers carelessly tossing their life’s work into cardboard boxes. Thankfully, no one noticed them at all when Peter was in a flap.

“This is preposterous! I demand an explanation!”

“Fine!” The Dean exclaimed taking a step toward Venkman. “The University will no longer continue any funding of any kind for your group’s activities.”

“But why? The students love us!” And Peter loved the students. Vaguely he wondered what would happen to his eight o’clock.

“Dr. Venkman.” Dean Yeager began, taking another step closer to him, his face split by a twisted grin. “We believe the purpose of science is to serve mankind. You, however, seem to regard science as some kind of ‘dodge’ or ‘hustle’. Your theories are the worst kind of popular tripe, your methods are sloppy, and your conclusions are highly questionable. You’re a poor scientist, Dr. Venkman, and you have no place in this department or in this University.” An eerie numbness flowed through Venkman’s veins, chilling him to the core as loud buzzing droned in his ears.

“I see.” He managed.

“You said you ‘floored ‘em’ at the Regent’s meeting!” Ray was burning hot. Peter had said they were golden! Peter had promised he’d taken care of everything. Ray had trusted Peter and now his desk was being dumped out before his eyes. Even Peter’s righteous tone and sincere, apologetic gaze could not sooth him.

“Ray, I apologize.” Venkman fixed the Dean with a cutting stare, “I guess my confidence in the Regents was misplaced. They did this to Galileo, too.”

“It could be worse, Dr. Venkman.” The Dean’s face shone with sick delight. “They took the astronomer Phileas and staked his head to the town gate.” Ray felt like he was having an out of body experience (which he would want to investigate further but was too upset) as he watched Peter brush past Dean Yeager, stomp to his desk, pull open the bottom draw, pull out a fifth of whiskey and blow past them all throwing dirty looks and muttering darkly,

“You’re going to regret this Yeager.”

**X**

Egon wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten from the office to his apartment. The last thing he remembered was Dean Yeager informing them that they had lost their funding because Peter (those details were hazy but Venkman was definitely culpable). Now the scientist was standing in front of his own door, keys in hand just staring at the wood grain and tarnished brass knocker engraved with P3. Shaking himself Egon opened his door- he was missing time. It was crucial he attempted to determine if he had been abducted by aliens or had a minor psychotic break. Either explanation was plausible. Locking the door behind him he carefully hung up his jacket and emptied his pockets onto the hall table. He was going to need to perform a full body examination and forensic analysis of his clothing. He might even need to undergo hypnosis to retrieve memories – some abductees reported such treatment had retrieved information they had repressed. He’d need Peter for that, and Ray to run the video…

Then he remembered – they didn’t have the lab anymore. They’d lost their grant. He’d been kicked out of Columbia like some _nishtgutnik_.[1]There was a ringing in his ears and a deep pain in his very marrow. In that moment he felt like Gregor Samsa.[2]He would still examine himself to be sure, but Egon was fairly certain he’d not been abducted on his commute home, his loss of time could be explained by the Kaffka like depression which enveloped him. Egon moved through his silent, still, sterile apartment carefully removing his clothing as he went until he was down to his briefs and glasses in his small bathroom. His suit, shirt, vest, tie, socks, and shoes were neatly folded and placed on the counter beside his sink. Behind the door a full-length mirror was mounted. Egon rarely used it, his brain was by far more important to him than his epidermis, even now he intended to check himself for telltale signs of experimentation or probing by extraterrestrials, not examine what time did to the male body.

Instead Egon found himself staring at his own reflection. His feet were too big, his legs were reasonably well muscled from his preference for walking over riding the subway. His hips were narrow. An appendectomy scar ran above the elastic of his fruit of the loom briefs. Idly he noted a hole near the waist band, he’d need to pick up new underwear at some point… his chest was broad and solid – not from muscle but genetics and a love of food that probably should be better regulated given his distaste for exercise. He was not a hairy man, only a few dark hairs dusted over his pectorals and down his abdomen. His arms were long, muscles defined from carrying books all his life. His hands were large, the palm broad, fingers long. There was nothing he could do to his hair to make it stick up less and he’d given up on it long ago. He was not an athletic man, nor a handsome man. His brown eyes bored into his own brown eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

He was a failure.

His father, before he had died, had said if he truly pursued a line of inquiry involving ghost he was no son of his. He would be a disgrace to the family and to science. Egon had gone into every PhD program, both post-docs and his research position at Columbia determined to prove Darwin Spengler wrong. He had been determined to shine the light of science onto paranormal research. Now, where was he? Staring blankly at his mostly naked self in a bathroom mirror – his academic career at Columbia and likely everywhere else was over, his reputation in tatters and paranormal research once again relegated to the yellow press. Egon stared into the mirror and the mirror stared sadly back.

**X**

The whiskey stopped burning after the third or fifth belt. Ray had stopped keeping track of how much he’d had a while ago. He’d caught up to Peter on the steps of Low.[3]In a rare moment of sincerity Peter had apologized and Ray’s anger evaporated. Peter really was one of his best friends and he couldn’t stay bitter with him.

For a moment he’d been appalled when Peter had offered him his bottle of Evan Williams. They were sitting in the middle of campus! Peter had very calmly replied,

“What are they going to do? Fire us?”

That had been a mostly full bottle ago.

“This is a major disgrace.” Ray sighed, his forehead in his hands.

“I’ll say, we’re out of whiskey.”

“No! This!” Ray sprang up, was more drunk than he thought, faltered, then caught himself. “Forget MIT or Stanford now… they won’t touch us with a ten-meter cattle prod now.” Peter also stood up – with significantly more coordination than Ray – the bastard.

“You’re always so worried about your reputation.” Peter clapped him on the back. “We don’t need the University. Einstein did his best stuff while he was working as a patent clerk. They can’t stop progress.” Ray shrugged off his friend’s hand and attempt at optimism. For once he didn’t feel like there was a bright side to look on, everything was shit and more shit.

“Do you know how much a patent clerk makes?” he retorted, “I like the University. They gave us money, they gave us facilities, and we didn’t have to produce anything!” He’d published regularly and had several patents pending with Spengler which had put them on the tenure track with ease and tenure was a beautiful thing. Short of homicide, had he gotten tenure he’d never be out in the cold private sector again. He’d been so close.

“I’ve worked in the private sector. They expect results. You’ve never been out of college; you don’t know what it’s like out there.” He shuttered. Those had been the worst year of his life.[4]Peter took him by the shoulders and shook him, in his eyes there was a manic gleam.

“Let me tell you, Ray,” He said with visionary zeal. “Everything in life happens for a reason. Call it fate, call it luck, karma, whatever. I think we were destined to get kicked out of there.” Ray narrowed his eyes. He was drunk but not _that_ drunk.

“For what purpose?”

“To go into business for ourselves.” The dream of setting his own research agenda danced in his head but it splintered under the hammer of logic and reality.

“I don’t know – that costs money and the ecto-containment system we have in mind will require a load of bread to capitalize. Where would we get the money?”

**X**

The harsh ringing of his telephone pulled Egon from his depressed reflection. He had still not conducted his examination. In fact, he had lost even more time. Throwing on his bathrobe the physicist went to answer his phone.

“Spengler.”

“Dr. Spengler, it’s Vernon Yeager.” The voice said on the other end. “I’d like to talk to you about this afternoon.”

“I believe you said plenty.” Egon replied drolly.

“I did, and I did not. You see my statement to Dr. Venkman was accurate but not the whole matter. The Regents are willing to continue yourposition in the academy. Your academic reputation and the reputation of your late, distinguished father and your uncle are too important for the Regents to dismiss. They would like you to return to the University and take up a position in the physics department.” Egon felt the knuckles on the hand holding the phone tension and pop.

“What of Dr. Stantz? He’s been a key contributor in my research for the last few years and we are very close to a breakthrough.”

“I am afraid the Regents are only willing to fund you Dr. Spengler. Dr. Stantz’s body of scholarship is lacking.” The buzzing in his ears was back at a different frequency. Ray was a damn fine scholar and scientist with an impressive amount of publication to his name. His name, however, was not _Spengler._ There was no Stantz Scientific Achievement Prize. His work was a boon to the field, but his name was not a feather in anyone’s cap.

In a surreal moment of indignation Egon acted on instinct.

“Dean Yeager, unless Ray Stantz may also resume his research I am afraid I must turn down the Regent’s offer.”

“You cannot be serious, Dr. Spengler, surly.”

“I am always serious.”[5]He replied before hanging up. He did not imagine often but standing there in his briefs and bathrobe Egon envisioned a bridge going up in a white-hot blaze.

After hanging up on the dean Egon gave up on his alien hypothesis, given how he was feeling the simplest explanation was that he had been upset, not abducted. The simplest explanation was usually the most correct. Egon changed back into his slacks and shirt but not his jacket, tie, or vest. The scientist was not quite sure what to do with himself, he so rarely was home this early. Typically, he went into the lab early and stayed until he began to make mistakes then came home, collapsed into bed for his requisite eight hours and then repeated the process. Unless it was Wednesday, in which case he would go to the grocery store and pick up/ drop off his dry cleaning. It was Thursday, he should be working, but currently all his work was in a jumble thanks to the workmen simply dumping things in boxes.

He settled on Cubs versus Cardinals game two on the radio. Egon was not by any stretch of the imagination a sports fan, but he had an appreciation for baseball with its statistics and physics. Similarly, cooking was edible chemistry – in theory, however chemistry – edible or not – was his weakest area. It was the top of the seventh before he produced an omelet that was not mostly coal. He did not, however, get a chance to enjoy it right away. He so seldom received visitors that at first Egon did not recognize the knocking sound.

“Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville…” Ray slurred. His whiskey-soaked brain sloshed in his head as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, it sounded like waves. If Peter’s gambit failed Ray decided part way through the chorus, he was moving to a Caribbean Island and becoming a beach gofer and surfer bartender. He’d grow a beard, and no one would know the local, charming bum was an utterly disgraced scientist. He could bury his shame in the sand and a hula girl.[6]Oy. He was drunk. It was Peter’s fault. All of this was Peter fucking Venkman’s fault. But if Egon agreed to the plan maybe not all would be lost. Of course, if Egon agreed to the plan and it was a success then he would be vindicated and how he lost them tenure tract jobs at Columbia forgotten and once again Pete Venkman escaped the consequences. That fact made Ray’s soggy brain hurt so he stopped thinking about it and focused instead on Egon’s door. The tarnished brass knocker distorted his features. He knocked, knocked again, knocked a third time before Ray heard life stir within the physicist’s abode.

“Ray,” Egon sounded surprised as he opened the door wide and allowed Ray to stumble inside. “What are you doing here?”

“Egon, we need to talk.” He began, then was distracted by his friend’s décor. For being colleagues and best friends Ray suddenly realized he’d never seen where the other man lived. The apartment had Bauhaus architectural details and to lesser extent furnishings.[7]The walls were a warm beige color and not as bare as Ray might have guessed. Hanging neatly in two rows, three columns was a collection of illustrations from Grey’s Anatomy – anatomically correct hearts and legs and brains and veins – equal parts artistic and gruesome. Egon Spengler, at times, proved the mad scientist stereotypes true. A small TV with rabbit ears sat atop a cannibalized larger TV, clearly a side project on hiatus.

And then he heard Harry Carey’s voice: "It could be, it might be, it is! A home run!”[8]

Spengler was listening to baseball. Ray was certain he was hallucinating and therefore more drunk than he originally thought.

“Are you listening to baseball, Egon?” Spengler gave him a blank stare.

“You did not come here just to ask _that_ did you?”

“No, but Harry’s a little jarring. I didn’t know you liked baseball.” The scientist crossed to the radio, which had some Frankenstein modifications and turned the game off.

“Baseball is America’s game, Ray, plus I find the statistics soothing. Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“I’ve been thinking,” He said seriously. “I know losing our funding at Columbia is kind of career ending.” _Understatement of the century_. “But what if it also career beginning?”

“What do you mean Ray?” Egon wrinkled his nose; he either found the idea repugnant or had caught a whiff of him. Ray knew he reeked of cigarettes and whiskey like a Saturday night.

“I mean I know you’ve always been in academia but what if we went into business on our own – actually followed through on that containment center you drew on that McDonald’s bag. You said yourself we have the data to hold a ghost indefinitely, why don’t we try?”

Egon sat down heavily in his Eames chair.[9] _Go into business for themselves?_ Egon had never worked in the private sector or cared to before. The sheer cost of their ideas and equipment was astronomical – laughable to contemplate outside the academy.  The bridge he had just burned with Dean Yeager glowed brightly in his imagination.

“Ray, you realize we will, at minimum, need to spend over a hundred thousand dollars to get anything built?”[10]The logistics alone would put lesser men off this idea.

“Peter says he has a plan.” Egon felt his jaw tighten; he was not happy with his best friend at the moment.

“Isn’t it Peter’s fault we’re in this position in the first place?” Ray shrugged.

“Then he can’t fuck things up any worse.”

* * *

 

[1]Yiddish, A lazy, no-good, good-for-nothing person.

[2]Gregor Samsa is the main character of Franz Kafka’s 1915 work, _The Metamorphasis._ “As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.”

[3]Low Memorial Library is Columbia’s main library.

[4]I am very hazy about Ray’s age, as well as everyone else’s age, to be honest. I am operating under the assumption that a PhD in Engineering does not take as long as my PhD in history does. But that still means Ray might have been in graduate school for 5+ years.

[5]“And don’t call me Shirley.”

[6]If I can incorporate Jimmy Buffett, I _will_ incorporate Jimmy Buffett.

[7]School of art and architecture in Germany from 1919-33, focused on combining fine arts, crafts, and architecture. The idea was that the Bauhaus school would be “complete” – it’d do everything, and everything would work together from the layout of the space to the décor.

[8]Harry Carey was a baseball announcer, who interestingly called games for both the St. Louis Cardinals and the Chicago Cubs, though he is most closely associated with the latter. He very famously has been parodied by Will Ferrell on Saturday Night Live. “HEY!”

[9]Mid-century, high end lounge chair and ottoman originally designed by Charles and Ray Eames. There’s one in the permanent collection of the New York Museum of Modern Art. Gregory House has one in his office, as does Malory Archer if you’re looking for a pop culture visual.

[10]I’m low balling this number, I tried to think of what a lot of money was, but as a graduate student, anything over about a thousand dollars makes my left arm tingle.


	4. III

Summary: Ring the bell. Close the book. Quench the candle. Time to show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown. An AU telling of the 1984 Ghostbusters film. Peter/Dana, Egon/Janine, Ray/OFC, Winston/OFC. Warnings: Gratuitous footnote abuse, swearing, sexual content in thought, word, and deed.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

** III **

“I’ve done something drastic.”

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

Janine Melnitz put the handset back into the cradle and went into her postage stamp sized kitchen. She needed a drink badly. Her long, scarlet finger nails made quick work of the foil covering the chardonnay cork and she jammed the metal screw into the soft stopper with zeal. She was admittedly still upset. Not only had her asshole of a (ex)boss Marc Zaxby gotten his hand too far up her skirt before she could slap him, but he’d accused her of lying in front of a good portion of the office AND she’d tripped during her dramatic exit. Plus, it’d rained all day and her umbrella had not protected her or her stuff from getting wet as she walked to the subway. Thankfully she had multiple copies of all the pictures she liked to keep on her desk or else she’d really be in a state. Her ledger was mercifully in decent shape, the edges of the pages a bit damp but none of the ink smudged. She had a feeling that she was going to need its protection sooner rather than later. Janine rubbed her temple and poured the dry wine into a pint glass. When her day didn’t suck so much she’d use her actual wine glasses, today was not that day however.

Better than her word Janine’s intercom buzzed twenty minutes after she’d hung up her phone.

“J – it’s me!”  Noelle’s voice had always sounded like tinted glass but over the tinny intercom it took on a more speak and spell quality. Janine buzzed her best friend in and went to unlock her door before moving to pour a second pint of wine.

“You know how I feel about leaving your door unlocked.” Noelle chided, out of breath, as she walked, dripping, into Janine’s small living room.

“I feel fairly confident that the average criminal is not going to go up five floors with no elevator to come and get me.” Janine replied. Her best friend simply shook her head, her short, natural curls flicking water as she did so. The sodden newspaper in her hand had failed in its duty to protect her from the elements. The plastic sack, however, had succeeded in protecting a quart of rocky road ice cream.

“Alright Boo, what happened?” Noelle Harper-Whites was Janine’s oldest and closest friend. With such a status came the ability to read her like a book. Janine could lie to everyone else, but never to Noelle.

They had met when they were both about eight, their fathers were assigned as partners because no one else in the 27thprecinct wanted to work with either of them.[1]Richard Harper, Noelle’s father was black, which in the early ‘60s made life difficult, even in the North. Janine’s father, Patrick Melnitz, had taken his wife’s name when they married because Janine’s mother, Ruth, refused to be a Jew with the last name Christian and Patrick refused to have his family have two last names. The two partners had bonded, and their families became close friends. Noelle was the first and sometimes only person Janine told things to and Noelle always knew how to make her feel better. Janine needed that support now more than ever as the magnitude of this afternoon’s actions sunk in. She’d never up and quit a job before. Every job she’d had before she’d always planned her transitions, had a job lined up before she left the first one. In nearly fifteen years she’d never been ‘unemployed’. And now that was exactly what she was.

“I quit my job.” Janine said flatly.

“Jesus.” Noelle ditched her shoes and marched directly to the kitchen. She reappeared with two large spoons. “What happened?”

“I got tired.” Janine sighed. “I got tired of men looking down my shirt and speaking to my boobs. I got tired of Zaxby blaming me for things that I did correctly or didn’t do at all. I got tired of men cheating on their wives and having me cover for them by claiming meetings or that they were ‘going to the printer’s’. And I got really fucking tired of Zaxby treating my ass like it was wonder bread.” She folded up on one end of her small sofa and rubbed her forehead with both hands. “And I just had this really bad feeling about everything. It all felt off. Something about that office is just…off.”[2]Noelle plopped down on the other end of the sofa and tossed the lid to the ice cream on her coffee table. Jamming the spoons into the softened top she placed the container between them.

“Bastards.”

“Yes.” Janine agreed, drinking her wine. “Would you like a glass of wine?” Noelle eyed the large kitchen glass.

“You’re going to get yourself wine sick if you drink it like that.”

“Who the fuck cares if I’m as hung over as shit tomorrow, it’s not like I got a job to go to anymore.” They laughed darkly at her gallows humor.

“Did you file a sexual harassment complaint?” This was not the first time Janine’s boss had gotten too fresh with her.

“I really should have, but I didn’t really have good evidence before. If I was going to do something like that I wanted something that would really stick and not be based on the freakin’ bad vibe he gave me. I got my evidence but instead of going to HR I told him to go fuck himself.” Janine began eating the ice cream like it was her job. Noelle laughed; she could perfectly picture Janine saying those words. If there was one emotion Janine was capable of showing it was her displeasure.

“Can’t you file a retroactive one? It would look better for future employment if you had something to explain why you left so abruptly.”

“Oyvey, yerright.” The redhead said around the spoon in her mouth. “I didn’t even think of that. Shit, you’re right.”

“You must’ve been really upset.” Typically, Janine was much savvier than this. Noelle was the one who didn’t know how to handle the corporate jungle and the dangers of the steno pool, that was all Janine’s wheel house. There was a long pause as Janine worked on carefully scraping every bit of ice cream from the sides and bottom of one quarter of the carton.

“I guess so. I mean the hand up my skirt was one thing, but it was more a catalyst than the single cause. I can’t explain it Elle but working in that office, I just had this FEELING that something was really shady. I even started keeping my own ledgers regarding all the accounts I worked with and copies of receipts and invoices and stuff. I can’t explain it but I’m really glad I did.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly, not caring about what that would do to her mascara and eyeliner.

“Oh Boo, that sounds awful. How long have you had this feeling? You never said anything.” Another long pause as Janine finished her wine.

“Dunno, with growing intensity over the three years I was working there. I didn’t know what to say and it never seemed like the time to bring it up. It wasn’t really something I wanted to get into at the club when you were so giddy after your sets, kind of a buzzkill to talk about while planning your wedding. I suppose I could’ve brought it up during racquetball, but we always wound up talking about something else. I don’t know, it seemed so little and now it’s so big.” For a moment Noelle felt guilty - had she really dominated everything so long that she missed something so important to her best friend? Janine had never, ever been open with her emotions, even as a child she’d been as subtle and complex as wine. Aside from her parents and sister Noelle was probably the only one who could read what large feelings her small expressions betrayed. And then reason stepped in. Noelle could read Janine’s tells well but couldn’t read her mind, it wasn’t her fault that Janine didn’t bring something up. If she really wanted to talk about it she should have – or would have – made a concerted effort to do so.

“Jay, ya gotta speak up sometimes. People can’t read your mind. I don’t know how you can be so aggressive in other things but not in this!” Janine winced at her friend’s piercing analysis. She knew she was right. No one would know anything if she didn’t tell them and it wasn’t fair to expect mindreading abilities in friends. She raised her glass to her lips again but found it was empty, she sat it down again.

“Touché but this isn’t a get drunk, eat ice cream and lament my interpersonal skills this is get drunk, eat ice cream and lament my lack of a job. I don’t have a job Elle. In like fifteen years I’ve never had this problem. I’ve never quit a job without having something lined up to go to right after. I’m _unemployed._ ” She could feel herself getting a little hysterical. Working was something that was important to her. Being financially independent was a major tenant of her life philosophy. Having a plan… she didn’t have a plan… she ALWAYS had a plan. Noelle must have read her panic because with as much love as a slap could have Noelle smacked her up the back of the head.

“No. No panicking.” Noelle said in her teacher voice, it worked on second grade music students and it worked on Janine – pulling her back from the event horizon of blithering panic. Janine blushed, she hated it when she lost even the slightest bit of her control.

“You’ve been unemployed for all of what, four hours? Six tops? I’m sure your Bubbe would have you know that people when unemployed for years before Saint Roosevelt stepped in.”[3]Janine’s grandmother (and to a lesser extent even her mother) was the woman all other Jewish stereotypes were modeled. Janine snorted.

“True, though Bubbe would not call him _saint_ Roosevelt.” Noelle smiled, and Janine’s face followed suit. It was a true smile, much to her friend’s relief. It was hard to get a genuine smile out of Janine Renee Melnitz. It was the kind of smile that could transform her entire face. It was a sign she was relaxing, she was focusing – she was going to be just fine (aside from the hangover) tomorrow.

“Whatever. The cause is not lost; we’re going to get through this. Time to make a plan. I know how you like your plans.” Janine nodded and reached for the wine bottle on her coffee table.

“I’ll drink to that. Wine?”

The next afternoon Janine crawled out from the dark silence of her covers. She hadn’t wanted to, but Pyewackt, her seal-point Rex had demanded food.[4]Her head was killing her, Elle had let her finish the entire bottle of wine and most of the ice cream last night. At the time Janine had protested that she’d be fine. She was not fine. She was way too old to get that shitfaced. Everything hurt. Her hair hurt.

After a long shower at least her hair stopped hurting, as had most of her body. Her stomach roiled at the thought of food and her brain was still packed with cotton fluff but otherwise she felt more or less human. Stumbling to her kitchen she threw back four glasses of water in quick succession as well as two extra strength ibuprofen before turning to her coffee maker. After setting the pot to brew a new sheet of paper on her refrigerator caught her eye. Noelle’s perfect teacher handwriting peeked out at her from behind her favorite Mets magnet.

_Good afternoon star shine!_ It began.

 

_If you’re reading this than your hangover hasn’t actually killed you, though given how much you’ve had to drink I’m a little impressed. Anyway, you’re currently more than half passed out on the sofa next to me so I’m writing down what we’ve established so that your memory will be jogged today since right now you won’t remember anything._

_To start off with you drank a full bottle of white wine on your own and ate not quite two thirds a quart of rocky road ice cream._

_More importantly, on the coffee table is the classified section of yesterday’s paper; you and I went through it and circled some promising leads. When you feel up to it your first course of action is to follow up on the things we found followed by letting that hiring agency you were registered with know that you’re looking for a job again. You’re going to get a job, it’s going to be fine. You’ve already paid rent this month, so you’ve got a little bit of time before the pinch really sets in. You got this._

_Now. Take a shower. DRINK WATER! Try to eat something and get your ass recovered. Also, next Friday at the club is for you, be thinking of what you’d like to hear to cheer you up. **[5]**_

_Love you,_

_Elle_

Coffee brewed Janine took her mug into the living room and picked up the paper from last night. Several red circles stood out from the rows and rows of black type. Perching her reading glasses on her nose Janine began to slowly peruse what she and Noelle had come up with last night. One ad in particular caught her eye, although for the life of her she couldn’t give a logical answer why.

 

**_Office Manager wanted_ ** _. Immediate employment available for qualified office manager for a Professional Paranormal Investigations and Eliminations company. Customer service experience as well as experience with bills and invoices a must. An open mind encouraged though healthy skepticism also good. Apply in person between 9 and 5 week days. Flexible hours and pay negotiable._

 

Janine looked at her clock it was after three. There was no way she’d be functioning enough to interview today but if she got her shit together she might be able to check things out tomorrow morning. She reread the ad again as well as its companions and nodded to herself. Yes, tomorrow she would go see what they meant by paranormal investigations and eliminations.

**X**

Egon was sore all over, muscles which he knew he had because he knew basic anatomy but never really thought about using before ached. His movements were stiff and uncomfortable and all around the scientist felt very out of shape. He, however, took solace in two things: one, Ray and Peter were equally as uncomfortable and two, after two weeks of intense cleaning the firehouse and official Ghostbusters, Inc. office was now hospitable to humans. The cobwebs and dust were gone, as was the mold – aside from a few cultures Egon hoped to grow in a more controlled environment. The floors had been washed and waxed, the walls given a fresh coat of paint. Now all that was left was designing, building, testing, and installing all the equipment they would need, hiring someone to take care of the paperwork, and getting customers. Peter had volunteered to do the hiring. Egon assumed it was because that task involved significantly less engineering and significantly more female interaction. Not that the physicist really minded, Egon knew where his strengths lay, and it was not in interpersonal relations. Especially not with strangers. And so, Egon and Ray worked in the garage while the sealants in their new lab were drying and Peter sat at his desk, feet up beside a silent telephone.

Something caught his eye as he drew up plans for a vehicular pack charging system. What started in the corner of his eye moved along the edge of his vision – legs – a pair of familiar and incredibly attractive legs; muscular, smooth, and shapely by modern beauty standards as far as Egon knew. He could not help but follow them as they moved across the bay and towards Ray who was seated at the future receptionist’s desk attempting to wire the power mechanisms to the accelerator of the proton pack that would produce the energy and ions needed to catch a ghost.

“Excuse me,” a thick Brooklyn accent drew Peter from a very entertaining article on Bat Boy, “is this the company that advertised in the paper for an office manager?” Peter stood up, thrilled for something to do. There had been shockingly few applications for the job. All had been qualified to a point, but none had fit as far as Peter was concerned.

This candidate was sylph-like in build with a round face, high cheek bones, and short auburn hair in a chic pixie cut which only added to her spritely appearance. She was wearing a business casual black dress with a skirt that was flirting with a bit too short and a pair of red pumps. She carried a leather shoulder bag and a long leopard printed coat. She was younger than the previous candidates and didn’t appear to be an utter nut job. She was by far the most promising person Peter had seen come through their office.

“Yes, uh…yes.” Ray was saying. He was taken a bit by surprise, it’d been three days since they saw anyone but the pizza guy.

“We’re the Ghostbusters.” Peter announced, darting from his office to introduce himself. “I’m Dr. Peter Venkman, this is Dr. Ray Stantz, and over there is our colleague Dr. Egon Spengler. We’re the owners. And you are?” Both Ray and Egon were brilliant scientists and to inventors, Peter would be first say it but neither of them could talk or network to save their lives. That was where he came in.

“Janine Melnitz.” She said extending her hand.

Dr. Peter Venkman shook like a used car salesman. He looked rather like one as well, his hair was still dark brown, but was receding from the temples. He needed it cut, in her opinion, it was sticking up and out where he still had it, fringe brushing the collar of his grey and blue windowpane shirt. His eyes were blue and clearly studying her as much as she studied him.

Ray Stantz, the man she’d first seen upon entering the converted Firehouse, was shorter and stockier than Dr. Venkman. Younger looking as well. His face was long and full, made to look even longer and fuller by his auburn hair sticking up all over his head like a paint brush. He wore a pair of magnifying glasses – probably helping him to see whatever it was he was working on – they highlighted how his smile reached his eyes. Also, the fact that while one eye was dark brown the other was green and glittered like Baltic amber.[6]When Janine turned her eyes to Dr. Spengler she lost her train of thought – and her breath – for a moment.

He was tall. Well dressed in Dockers and an Oxford and dark hair – with glasses. He was literally every inch her type in the physical department. But that wasn’t the end of it. She couldn’t verbalize what she was feeling but just being near him, it was a warmth that started in her core and radiated out to her toes and the tips of her fingers. Oy.  His hand fairly engulfed hers when he shook it and she’d be damned if it didn’t turn her on a little. … A lot. Thankfully, Dr. Venkman demanded her attention before she could make a fool out of herself over a man she just met.

“This way Ms. Melnitz.” He said gesturing to an open space behind a row of heavy wooden filing cabinets.

Venkman settled himself behind an antique desk littered with Coke and PBR cans, gossip rags and cheese puffs. _Do you want ants?_ Janine thought wryly, arching an eyebrow at the mess. _Because that’s how you get ants._ She seated herself in the chair opposite him and retrieved her freshly typed resume and cover letter from her bag. She loved her purse, it was classic enough to take to work and hide the fact she got it five years ago on sale. It had interior pockets to organize her important stuff and yet was also open and deep enough to hold a folder and her book. Given how long the train ride was in from Brooklyn the book was a must.

“So, Ms. Melnitz, how did you hear about us?” Peter asked, over the top of the cabinets he could see Egon’s hair. He wasn’t talking to Ray, which was odd, but it seemed like he was hovering. Very odd.

“I saw your ad in the paper.” She said, her accent was a shame, really, she could be saying really intelligent, professional things but all he would think would be “ugh, Brooklyn” and twitch a little because _ugh, Brooklyn_.

“I see, and your last position? Why are you interested in working with us?” The woman studied him for a moment, her face neutral. Unfortunately, her resting expression made her look like a bit of a bitch. Venkman tried to not take it personally, which of course meant that he did.

“If you’ll forgive me, those are two different questions. I am interested in working with you because I’m intrigued by what you mean by ‘paranormal investigations and eliminations’. My last job was as a secretary in an advertising firm. I resigned… recently.” She handed him a professionally formatted, neatly typed resume.

“What prompted your recent departure?” Egon was stillhovering. Interesting.

“My boss and I disagreed. We had different definitions of ‘no’ and ‘keep your hands to yourself’.” She lifted her chin slightly and sat very straight. “You will understand that calling that office will give you an unfair assessment of my skills.” Peter gritted his teeth and nodded. Men could be such pigs.

“Of course.”

Egon recognized the legs on the applicant. Ms. Melnitz had been the woman from the library and his assessment was correct, she fit Western – and his – standard of beauty. They had agreed that Peter would leave the inventing to him and Ray if they left the hiring to him. Egon knew he had no people skills to speak of and yet he could not help himself. He wanted to be nearer to this flame haired woman currently assessing her strengths and weaknesses in an alto voice for Peter. Ray gave him a quizzical look as he stood by the desk tinkering rather than returning to the worktop but said nothing.

“One final question, Ms. Melnitz – Do you believe in UFOs, Astral projection, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, Spirit photography, full trance mediums, telekinetic movement, black and/or white magic, pyramidology, the theory of Atlantis, the Lock Ness monster, or in general in spooks, spectres, waiths, geists, and ghosts?”

Janine was sharp, sarcastic, and cynical. If her accent didn’t automatically scream city native, then her attitude did. Peter could appreciate that, even if he bristled when it was turned on him. She was also – as far as he could tell – a very qualified candidate: secretarial school, shorthand and stenography, a fast typist, computer competent, experienced not just in filing but also libraries and archives. She wasn’t wearing a tinfoil hat. She took a deep breath that clearly was intended to buy her time to think. He’d rattled off all the crazy shit Ray insisted they discuss up front, she now rattled back at him.

“UFOs: Yes. But not _Chariots of the Gods?_ style. Astral projection: no, not really. Telepathy and ESP: yes, to a limited degree.  Clairvoyance: no. Spirit photography: only if there has been new equipment employed, I don’t believe in the William Hope ones, for instance. Full trance mediums: not really. Telekinetic movement: no. Magic – both – yes. Pyramidology – no. Atlantis is an allegory that may have some historical backing but the city itself as described is not one of them. Nessie has no breeding population and should be extinct. My general statement is whether or not I believe in many of these claims is a separate issue from my believe that scientific inquiry and study should be applied. I assume that’s what the ‘investigations’ part of your job is. I’m all for that.” After her speech she stared at him owlishly. He stared back. That was not the most thorough response to the questions, but it was the least crazy he’d gotten.[7]

“Thank you, Ms. Melnitz. That was very well thought out. I will speak with my partners and we will be in touch.” The secretary stood.

“Thank you, Dr. Venkman.” Peter followed her to the gate of his office and watched as she said good-bye to Ray and Egon before letting herself out. He watched her leave in the sense he knew when she was gone, the bulk of his attention was however trained on Egon, who had stopped his tinkering to watch her depart. His dark eyed best friend was still staring at the door even after she closed it behind her. His usually serious expression was softened in a way Venkman had never seen before. Very interesting.

“She’s qualified.” He announced carefully casual.

“That’s good. How’d she answer the last question?” Ray asked. He still had on his magnifying glasses, they made him look like a damn Walter Keane painting.[8]Peter paused, trying to figure out how to characterize her answers. Egon was still staring at where the woman had been.

“Healthy skepticism, firm believer that scientific inquiry can separate out the truth from the hokum.” That got the physicist’s attention. He turned to give Peter a hard study, his gaze then returned to the door, satisfied with whatever he saw.

“Hire her.”

* * *

[1]The 27th Precinct is where the detectives from Law & Order work out of, Lennie Briscoe and Jack McCoy can explain a lot about who I am today, to be honest.

[2]Marc Zaxby will be discovered embezzling from the company, in addition to sexually harassing employees. Janine’s ledgers will be used to compare to the company books to confirm the fraud. She’s a little bit psychic, all women in her family are.

[3] _Bubbe_ , Yiddish for grandmother.

[4]Pyewackt is the name of the cat from the 1958 movie Bell, Book, and Candle from which this story takes its title. Kim Novak’s character has a Siamese cat named Pyewackt, which itself was chosen because according to witch finding guides of the seventeenth century that was a common name for witches’ familiars.

[5]Noelle Harper-Whites is basically Natalie Cole. She’s who I was picturing in my head as I created the character and she’s definitely the voice I imagine Noelle having.

[6]Dan Aykroyd has two different colored eyes as the result of a genetic mutation known as heterochromia iridum.

[7]Janine’s opinions are unapologetically my own. Fight me. William Hope (1893-1933) was one of the later spirit photographers, he was proven to be a fraud, though Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (yes, that one) went to great lengths to clear his name and prove spirits and spirit photography was real.

[8]Walter Keane made his name with a series of paintings of girls with Big Eyes, although later it came out that his wife did all the painting. Literally they went to court to prove it and both Keane and his wife had to paint a picture in that signature style for the Judge and his wife was able to and he was not (he claimed shoulder injury threw him off). There’s a movie, Big Eyes, with Christoph Waltz about the whole thing.


	5. IV

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

** IV **

“Afternoon Miss Barrett, need a hand?” Dana Barrett felt herself smile the first sincere smile she had smiled all day. _God bless Giles_ she thought warmly. The middle-aged doorman was always so friendly and kind, and so far, was the only person to offer to help her as she juggled her cello and bag of groceries. The cabbie had laughed at her rather than help her as he dropped her off across the street from her apartment. _Asshole._

“Thank you, Giles, but I’ve got everything under control.” At this point it was moot, she was home. The man nodded and held the door for her and her cello with a fatherly smile.

In the elevator Dana checked her watch – twelve thirty. She didn’t have to be at the museum until two, which gave her enough time to put her groceries away, eat, and change before work. Cello was her true passion, she’d majored in music at Vassar and spent an additional two years in conservatory in Philadelphia practicing. The fact she was now part of an orchestra that payed her to perform was a dream come true. But dreams, even ones that were reality, didn’t pay all the bills. Her other degree in art did that with her position as a preservationist’s assistant. Although, ultimately what kept a roof over her head was the fact when her great-Aunt Margery passed four years ago she left her one hundred year rent controlled lease to her and the landlord had honored the will. Dana had been stunned but eternally grateful. There was no way she could afford the two-bedroom prewar apartment with park views by herself.

Stepping out of the elevator on the 22nd floor she headed down the art deco hall to her home.[1]Margery was an odd duck, but she was generous and had excellent taste in real estate.

“Oh Dana, it’s you…” Speaking of odd ducks. Louis Tully was her across the hall neighbor. He really was a nice guy, Dana felt bad for every uncharitable thought she had about him but for as sweet as he was he was also painfully awkward and annoying.

“Hi Louis.” She greeted him flatly, digging through her blanket coat for her keys.

“I thought it was the drug store.” _Of course, you did Louis_.

“Are you sick, Louis?” She rolled her eyes as she said it but then kicked herself, it was just the opportunity he needed. Last time she was polite he’d talk her ear off about doing taxes herself and how much she was risking when he as a CPA and her as a friend would do a better job for the price of a coffee. She’d lost over an hour to him last time, she couldn’t afford that today.

“Oh, no, I feel great.” He said proudly, standing tall – as tall as he could any way. _He can’t help that he’s as tall as Bilbo Baggins_. “I just ordered some more vitamins. I’ve been exercising. I taped ’20-minute workouts’ and play it back at high speed so it only took ten minutes and I got a really good workout. You wanna have a mineral water with me?” that explained the powder blue track suit at least.

“No, thank you Louis.” She said as nicely as she could. “I’m really tired, I’ve been rehearsing all morning.” At least she wasn’t lying. She’d rehearsed by herself at eight, with the orchestra from nine until eleven thirty then dashed through the bodega near the concert hall before getting a taxi home. All she wanted was a shower and a salad. She checked her watch discreetly. Twelve thirty five.

“Okay, I’ll rain check.” Bless his pea-pickin’ little heart Louis was an eternal optimist. “I always have plenty of mineral water and other nutritious health foods, but you know that.” He smiled at her and she forced herself to smile back. He was cute in a sort of puppyish way Dana supposed, it was just she’d always been more of a cat person. “That reminds me, I’m having a party for all my clients soon. It’s gonna be my fourth anniversary as an accountant. I know you fill out your own tax return but I’d like you to come being that you’re my next door neighbor and all.” He looked so sincere she couldn’t turn him down, as much as she’d rather pull her own fingernails out than spend extended periods of time with him.

“That’s very nice Louis, if I’m around I’ll stop by.” Maybe she could convince Andre that they and Aiden and Amelia needed to try out that new wine bar on 83rd that night, afterwards she’d be a few drinks in and the party wouldn’t be nearly as painful, AND she wouldn’t have to stay long. _Dana Susan you’re a terrible person_.

“You know, you shouldn’t leave your TV on so loud when you go out. That creep down the hall phoned the manager.” Dana frowned, she hadn’t turned the TV on this morning, just NPR to hear the weather and the morning news. She pressed her ear to the door. Sure enough, she could hear Bob Ross talking about happy trees.

“I guess I forgot to turn it off.” She started to unlock her door.

“I climbed on the window ledge to see if I could disconnect the cable, but I couldn’t reach.” Dana doubted that, seeing as they were on the twenty second floor, but she let him have his moment. “So, I turned my TV up real loud, so they’d think there was something wrong with everyone’s TV. You know? You and I should really have keys to each other’s places…” Dana felt bad for closing her door on him, except she didn’t. It was after twelve and she needed to shower, dress, and eat before work. Out in the hall she could hear Louis talking to himself.

PBS was going to commercial as she passed through her living room. For the life of her she didn’t remember having the TV on. Especially since this was still on PBS from when she watched _Masterpiece Theater_ , if she’d watched TV this morning she’d have had it on _Good Morning America_. But how’d it turn on then…? Dana stared at the remote on her end table by the phone. She didn’t even have a pet she could blame for stepping on the power button. She’d given great – Aunt Margery’s Dachshund ‘the Sloar’ (the only pet she’d ever met with a definite article) to her older brother Liam and his wife. Their kids had renamed the stupid wiener dog Trixie. Caroline still hadn’t quite forgiven her for introducing a pet into her spotless home.

Shaking her head Dana reached for the remote.

“Are you troubled by strange noises in the night?” The TV commercial asked. Three men stood in grey lab coats looking very seriously into the camera as they spoke of spooks, specters, and ghosts. Dana paused, her thumb resting on the ‘off’ button.

“We’re ready to believe you.” The three men announced in unison as GHOSTBUSTERS flashed across the screen with their phone number and address. Shaking her head, she turned off the TV.

**X**

“Type something would ya, we’re paying for this stuff.” Dr. Peter Venkman snapped at her. From over her reading glasses Janine gave him one of her most withering Brooklyn stares. He winced a little. The day after her interview Venkman had called her back and asked if she wanted a full-time job. Two days after that she’d returned to the firehouse to negotiate pay and sick leave and a non-disclosure agreement. She’d not seen anyone but Dr. Venkman in that meeting and over the course of it she realized that even if they became friends neither would be able to keep a civil tongue in their head around the other.

“Don’t stare at me, ya got the bug eyes.” He tossed at her, covering how he retreated from her stare. She smirked. _Shmendrik. **[2]**_ She turned back to her desk, currently being filled by Dr. Egon Spengler, the second of her three bosses. The third was a PhD named Ray Stantz. She had only met either man briefly before today. In their very short acquaintance, she’d learned that Ray was perhaps the sweetest of the three, with enthusiasm, big heart as well as a big brain. Venkman had a big mouth and that was about it. Spengler on the other hand, she didn’t know what was big about him, but she was intrigued to find out. He wasn’t making it easy for her however. Janine was getting frustrated making small talk with the good Doctor. It was like trying to talk to her geranium, except with flowers something would occasionally bloom. Out of him she got _bupkis_.[3]But she tried, the man was going to be one of her bosses and he was currently crawling between her legs hooking up various wires and plugs. Some conversation seemed to be required. That and Dr. Egon Spengler was tall, dark, Jewish, and brilliant. Janine always loved the tall, dark, smart Jew. She’d been madly in love with Leonard Neimoy and Spock since the ‘60s.

Dr. Egon Huxley Spengler held three PhDs – three – from three very prestigious universities. Physics from MIT, Microbiology from Harvard, Parapsychology with some post-doctoral work in Cryptozoology from Columbia. He was a licensed, board certified coroner for the great state of New York.[4]He was more than qualified to hook up a phone and a computer. Yet for some reason he could not. His hand – eye coordination was shot, and his attention had wondered so far it was very likely in the next state by now.  Sirens in satin pumps kept calling his eye. Legs. Stocking clad, shapely, well-toned. Crouching under the small receptionist’s desk there was no escaping them. His shoulder brushed her shin; it was an unsettling feeling – mainly in the fit of his slacks.

“You’re very handy, I can tell.” Her Brooklyn accent admonished from above. Dear God, she expected him to hold a conversation? He could hardly hold his hands still to plug things in. he’d never been so flustered in his life – not even trying to explain the cold fusion reactor in his dorm room to the campus police – and that fact flustered him even further. He made no real reply.

She recrossed her legs and Egon dropped the wires. As a graduate student at Columbia Egon had bolstered his income by working as the graveyard shift coroner for the fifty third precinct. He had seen a lot of legs in his time – up close and internal. But Janine Melnitz had the best legs he’d ever seen – dead or alive – and they were right there. Right in front of him. He could name every muscle that flexed in the act of crossing one’s legs, he knew every tendon and where those tendons connected to bone, but for once in his life he was not thinking about that. He was not thinking at all. Probably because all of the blood had rushed from his brain to the colloquially known ‘little head’. When she shifted he could not quite see up her skirt, but it was a tantalizing possibility.

That was when he heard it, the voice of his now deceased father drawn from his memory to help his conscious get back on track. _Egon!_ Darwin Spengler’s voice said firmly. _Dr. Spengler get a hold of yourself! Have you lost command of your senses? What are you doing? This is exactly why I warned you against romance all those years ago. Dr. Spengler, this is a prime example. Examine your behavior- you cannot complete a simple task, all because of an infatuation! Love is illogical. Women are a distraction; your work is too important for a distraction. The Spengler name must be upheld, we are a family of scholars and scientists, do not jeopardize that for one woman. One woman who is so clearly bellow your intellectual level it is a wonder you two can communicate efficiently. Have you listened to her speak? Dr. Spengler do not waste your time nor sully your good name. **[5]**_

“You’re very handy, I can tell.” Janine ventured, setting aside her Smithsonian Magazine. He’d completely her ignored her talk of the weather. Simply stating that the question, ‘windy enough for ya?’ was very ambiguous.  To her next statement he made no reply. She recrossed her legs. “Have you read this article in this month’s Smithsonian? It’s by a Dr. Gradwald, I’ve read his book, it was very interesting, despite being about Iowa. You read much, you seem like you’d read a lot.”[6] _Come on_ she thought, the guy’s gotta read, even if was those dry tech journals. Dark eyes met dark eyes through two layers of thick prescription glass.

“Print is dead.” He said in a very serious, flat tone. Janine blinked.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious.” He turned back to the wires.

“Reading is a fabulous way to spend one’s time. I lived in the library as a child. They say computers are our future, but I say nothing will ever replace the book.” She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Print is dead’. What nerd didn’t read? She didn’t want to have to reverse her opinion of him, but she just might have to.[7]

“That’s very interesting.” God! Now he was humoring her. She hated to be humored. If he wanted her quiet so he could concentrate he should say something, not something patronizing.  But she wasn’t giving up, no not till she got him figured. Time for a new tactic, new topic.

“Music! I believe that music is one of the first properties of every polished society; it is one of the greatest expressions of mankind. Now, are you going to tell me that ‘every savage can dance’?”[8]He emerged from under the desk and turned his attention to her computer. How could someone so well dressed be such a stuffed shirt?

“Don’t you do anything- racquetball –something! You’ve got to have a hobby.” Egon Spengler straightened to his full height, he looked down at her.

For the life of him Egon Spengler had never seen a woman so determined to engage in conversation with him before. She would not give up even after he tried to blatantly contradict her, after he patronized and ignored her. Such determination was laudable but did not help the still growing situation involving his ‘interest’ in her. There was something about how she wished to know more about him that touched a deeper level. At university the few women he’d encountered when he ventured outside of his office were more interested in his epididymis than his cranium… at least until he spoke to them, then they were not interested in anything about him.[9]

_You’ve got to have a hobby!_ She sounded exacerbated, perhaps finally she would leave him alone, extract herself from his conscious, subconscious and presence. _Quick!_ His mind raced _, think of something mundane!_

“I collect spores, molds, and fungus.”

He watched her eyes grow a little large, one auburn brow arching. He surprised her – and hopefully turned her off his scent. Success.

Janine watched stupefied as he walked away, going to converse with Dr. Venkman in his office. Spores, molds, and fungus. In her head she could hear her mother; _Didn’t I tell you! Didn’t I say! In real life Spock would be a cold fish._ Janine sighed, she hated when her mother was right. So, Spengler was a cold fish. Venkman was an ass. At least Dr. Stantz was nice and personable. She shook her head and returned to her article. It was too bad because that cold fish had her burning red hot.

“Hello?” Janine’s thoughts were interrupted by a woman’s voice and the sight of Peter Venkman catching his foot on the gate of his office as he vaulted it and nearly landed on his face in his attempt to get to the female first.[10]Serves him right Janine thought as Venkman recovered and schmoozed up to the woman, his charm on full blast.

“Hello, I’m Peter Venkman. May I help you?”

The woman standing before him was tall, slender, and absolutely gorgeous.

“Yes, well…. I’m not sure. What I have to say may seem a little unusual.” And she was bearing a mystery. The Gods were smiling on Peter Charles Venkman for once.

“We’re all professionals here, Miss…” His gaze darted to her hand - no ring – Miss for certain then.

“Barrett, Dana Barrett.” The woman said. Dana.

“Why don’t you step into the office and we’ll talk about it.” Peter offered, casually taking her elbow to steer her to his desk. Under her breath, he heard Janine murmur something to Spengler that sounded like “said the spider to the fly”. He glared at her, barely noting Spengler’s expression as he too looked at the receptionist.

“Janine,” He said imperiously, “Hold all my calls.” He offered Dana a seat before Janine could snip back at him, “What calls?”

“So, what do you think it was?” He asked, drawing her attention to him.

**X**

The tall, dark haired man Dr. Venkman introduced as his colleague Dr. Spengler studied the polygraph readout intently but said very little. His face was as expressive as one of the old oil paintings of past presidents that had hung in the library at Vassar. Dr. Stantz was the exact opposite, his face was open and honest, especially his eyes, which sparkled as he listened to her insane tale.

“I think something in my refrigerator is trying to get me.” She felt absolutely barking mad saying that. Calling in to Judith was a surreal experience. She’d lied to her boss, claiming she was ill rather than telling her the truth; something in my fridge is whispering Zuul and having a ritual. That would have gotten her committed rather than sympathy. She’d then forced herself to gather her things like a sane human being before going to see the men advertising on TV.

“Generally, you don’t see that kind of behavior in a major appliance. What do you think, Egon?” the tall man – Egon – looked at the lie detector printout for a moment.

“She’s telling the truth – or at least thinks she is.” He had a nice, deep voice that she’d find soothing in other circumstances, but she’d literally just seen a dog from the tenth ring of hell come barreling toward her from inside of her GE.

“Why would anyone make up a thing like that?”

“Some people like attention.” Dr. Venkman offered with a shrug. “Some people are just crazy.”

“You know, Peter, this could be a past life experience intruding on the preset.” Dr. Stantz offered. And the three men were off, talking about things she didn’t understand or believe in. It all sounded ludicrous. Telepathic contact? Laugher bubbled up within her and for a moment she worried she was hysterical. But no, it was just so stupid. Clairvoyance? And they called other people crazy? Why had she come to these people again? Even if Dr. Venkman was attractive he had clearly been dropped on his head as a child.

“I’m sorry It’s just I don’t believe in any of these things. I don’t even know my sign.” Her roommate in undergrad had worked her chart out for her once. But Hildy had been one step removed from a carnival fortune teller. She’d also tried to read her palm…that was years and years ago and she refused to think of that now.

“You’re a Scorpio with your moon in Leo and Aquarius rising.” Dr. Spengler informed her like that meant something to her.

“Is that good?”[11]

“It means you’re bright, ambitious, outgoing, and very, very sexy.” Dr. Venkman said, watching her intently. The men around him had seemed to agree with his analysis up until the last part. She stared at him.

“Is that your professional opinion?” She asked wryly.

“It’s in the stars.” He replied. Dana caught herself from laughing in his face. He was handsome to be sure and then he said shit like that and she couldn’t even begin to take him seriously. Honestly, who said things like that?

Peter Venkman. Peter Venkman said things like that. And more. _“And I’ll go to the apartment and check her out…I mean I’ll go check out Ms. Barrett’s apartment”_ being one of the more memorable lines. Then entire taxi ride to her apartment he continued on his offbeat way, half interrogating half poorly flirting. He seemed to want to know everything – Where she grew up (Boston), How long she’d been in New York (eight years), where she went to school (Vassar), what she studied (Art and Music), and so on. Making conversation he’d called it. In any other context she would be flattered both by his general interest and the lengths to which he was going to learn about her, but these were not any other circumstances, there was currently a monster in her refrigerator. How he could be looking to score at a time like this she didn’t know. Other than maybe the fact that this was apparently his life meant that he’d become desensitized to how fucking scary this was.

“Prime real estate, Ms. Barrett, I’m both impressed and jealous.” Dr. Venkman informed her, unabashedly (which seemed to be his default status) rubber necking as she led him down the hall to her apartment.

“Thank you. My great-Aunt signed a 100-year lease back in the 1920s. When she died she left the lease to me, I’ve got 40 years left.”

“Generous woman.” Dana could only nod.

“She didn’t have children of her own, but was very fond of my mother, her affection for her spread to me and for that I am grateful.” She replied, digging around in her handbag for her keys. Dr. Venkman placed a hand on her wrist. His fingers were long, and his skin was warm. He had rough patches, the texture of a man who worked with his hands to some extent. It was strange compared to Andre’s hands which were callused from his violin, the skin almost rendered feeling-less from the buildup. It was strange compared to her own skin, painstakingly softened by lotion and attention. She looked up at him, her keys limp in her palm.

“I’ll go in ahead of you, that way whatever is in there gets me first.” He said. _God, so dramatic_. Dana rolled her eyes but handed over her key ring anyway.

“Just you?” He asked over his shoulder as he flounced into her living room, waving around whatever the hell equipment he’d brought with him which looked like a giant straw attacked to a blood pressure pump hanging from a shoulder strap. His eyes flew around the room, taking in the décor and everything he could learn about her from it.

“Yes.” She replied shortly. It’d been just her for a while. Yes, she had Andre but as talented of a musician as he was and how consistent their time together she didn’t quite think of him as her boyfriend. They didn’t have a relationship; they were marking time. The doctor hummed in the back of his throat as he circled the room clockwise and squeezed the pump.

“When you said you studied music you didn’t tell me you played cello.” He said. Her beautiful Fegley cello, safe in is hard grey case sat propped against her wall where she had left it on her way to her kitchen. “They’re beautiful instruments, my favorite of the strings.” Dana could feel a warmth spread in her chest. She loved the cello and to find someone else who loved it as well was something exciting. Venkman pauses outside her bedroom door.

“I’d have to say Prokofiev’s third concerto.” Dana’s excitement was replaced with exasperation and weariness.

“That’s a violin concerto.”[12]Would everything he said have to be a pass at her? Or was he even capable of sincere conversation?

“It’s got a great cello break.” He replied without missing a beat. “What’s in here?” He asked as he opened the door to her sanctum sanctorum, her bed room.

“That’s my bedroom. But nothing’s happened in there.” She said. Now he was just being a snoop. The problem was in her kitchen.

“That’s a pity.” He murmured quietly shutting the door. Dana could feel his gaze travel along her legs.

“You don’t really act like a scientist.” Or a professional of any type for that matter.

“They’re usually pretty stiff.” He replied, either unaware or ignoring the insult as he wondered over to her small dining area.

“You’re more like a game show host.” All insincerity, flattery, and lechery. She sighed heavily. “Doctor Venkman, you’ve come all this way, would you like to investigate the kitchen?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s check it out.” Dana stared at his face. She wanted to punch him. She also wanted to stare into his blue eyes a little long, to try and see what was behind them. She shook that last thought out of her brown, curly head.

“I came home and after turning off my TV which had apparently turned on at some point. I came in here and placed my grocery bag on the counter.” She told him as they entered her nice sized kitchen. Everything was as she had left it. The bag half unpacked, the eggs open, several fried and cooled on her counter.

“You’re quite the housekeeper.” He observed drolly, waving that wand thing of his around the room.

“I told you-” She began to protest. She was usually very proud of her housekeeping skills her apartment was the definition of clean and tidy.

“They did this on their own.” He finished for her. He peeled an egg from the surface and then flopped it back onto the counter. The top was obviously cool to the touch as he ran his fingers all over it in perhaps the most scientific thing he’d done since arriving.

“Yes, and then I heard a voice from my refrigerator. Would you like to finally check that out?” _Instead of me_. Venkman turned to the fridge and squared his shoulders before taking ahold of the handle and pulling the top of half of the icebox open.

“Oh my God!” He exclaimed. She jumped.

“WHAT? What is it?” She couldn’t help her voice sliding up a few octaves in surprise and fright. He let the door fall all the way open to reveal…her fridge. Leftovers in casserole dishes, lunch meat from when she packed her lunch for work. The cans of Coke she’d picked up in anticipation for her brother Rhys and his family’s visit (Rhys was a caffeine addict like the rest of their family but instead of coffee he got his daily dose in cola). No temple, no terror dogs. Nothing that would prove she wasn’t crazy.

“You actually eat this stuff?” He asked accusingly, holding up her bologna.

“This was not here. There was an alter and demons and this voice said Zuul.” She angrily slapped his hand away from her leftover pasta primavera and slammed the door shut.

“I’m sorry I’m just not getting any readings.”

“Are you sure you’re using that thing correctly?” God, she was crazy. There was nothing wrong with her apartment she was just losing her mind. Was it the paint fumes? Had she somehow managed to pull a Van Gogh and eat some of it? She stormed back into her living room as he replied, indignantly – “I think so!”

“You’re obviously still upset. Have you ever thought of moving out – at least until this blow over?” There was a degree of concern in his voice she thought, although she wasn’t entirely sure, she’d not heard it before. Dana continued to pace.

“No.  If I moved out now I’d be acknowledging that what happened was real.  And you just told me it wasn’t, that there’s nothing there. God, maybe I am crazy.” The ‘Ghostbuster’ sat down on one end of her sofa and patted the cushion beside him, as if he wanted her to sit beside him. She refused on principle but did move to stand by the other end of the couch.

“If it’s any comfort to you, I don’t think you’re crazy.” Goddamn puppy eyes on the man.

“Dr. Venkman, you seem to think that just because I’m a classical musician that I’ve not experienced anything before. I still know when you’re having me on.” For being a tall man sitting on a low sofa he snapped upright quickly.

“I’m a qualified psychologist.  I’ve got degrees and everything.  I am also the cofounder of the largest paranormal investigation service in the world. I believe that something happened here, and I want to do something about it.” He approached her until they were toe to toe, the stupid ghost finding gear between them. His square jaw was firmly set. He was as annoyed with her as she was angry at him and it crackled in the air around them.

“You really believe that something happened in my icebox.” She leveled her best glare at him. He returned it.

“I do and I’m willing to stake my personal and professional relationship on it.” The sky blue of his eyes had acquired some serious thunderheads. He was serious then. She felt some of her guard relax.

“All right.  What do you want to do?” She asked with a softer tone. He continued to look into her face.

“I think I should spend the night here.” He delivered the line seriously, but it still felt like a slap. _Stupid, Dana. That was stupid_. She wished she could slap him. Instead she squared her shoulders.

“That’s it.” She said firmly. “Get out.” Something flickered in his eyes and he backed away from her.

“For purely scientific purposes.”

“Out.”

“When I come home from work at night, I go home to nothing, all I have is my job and I look around this apartment, I see you and I think to myself ‘my God, here’s someone with the same problem I have’.” He tried, while still backing up toward the door.

“Yes, we do have the same problem, Dr. Venkman – you.” He stopped in front of her door.

“I’m going to prove myself to you. I’m going to solve your little ghost problem and then you’ll realize I’m serious. Then you’ll realize I’m interested in how you tick, and you’ll think to yourself, ‘that Pete Venkman, he’s a good guy, I wonder what makes him tick’.”

“Out.” She pointed toward the door firmly.

“Then she threw me out of her life, she thought I was a creep…” His tone changed to a narrative of woe, but he did open the door. Before she could shut it on him he stuck his head back in. “I’m gonna go for broke – I’m madly in love with you.” Dana could feel herself shaking as she took her hand and placed it in the center of his face and pushed him out of the apartment. Closing and locking the door she leaned against it. She could hear him out in the all grumbling about ‘no kiss.’

She shook her head in annoyance and amusement. She couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. She couldn’t stop the tingles on her skin every place that it made contact with his.

* * *

[1]Apparently, the corner of Spook Central is 550 Central Park West.

[2]Yiddish, a useless, ineffectual person.

_**[3]**_Yiddish, a rude way of saying nothing.

[4]Yeah, I have no idea how Egon’s timeline is supposed to work consider how long it takes to get such qualifications, but it’s fiction, so just relax. Also, assume he started college very young.

[5]I have no idea how the hell Darwin Spengler got married or why his wife put up with him. Especially since in the Cartoon Mrs. Spengler seems the maternal, smothering sort.

[6]Dr. Gradwald was a faculty member my mother had who wrote about Iowa. As an Iowan myself, anytime I can slip something about the Hawkeye state in, I do.

[7]I just can’t understand what people do with their time if they don’t read. And e-readers will never, ever replace a real book. I say, writing,and reading a shit ton of fanfiction on a computer.

[8]I wall also always quote Jane Austen if there’s an opportunity.

[9]My thanks to the-musical-cc on tumblr who corrected me after YEARS of thinking Egon said epidermis. He’s actually talking about a very specific place on his dick. I was shook when I found out. So, basically in GB2 he’s saying “They want the D”. Don’t worry, Egon, Janine is 100% interested in that too…

[10]If you watch carefully you can actually see Bill Murray catch his foot on the gate he’s jumping. I’m amazed he didn’t fall on his face in that scene.

[11]I don’t know, Dana, I’m a Capricorn.

[12]Actually, according to iTunes it’s a piano concerto, there’s a violin concerto one and two but not three. I have officially done more research than Dan Ackroyd and Harold Ramis regarding this movie.


	6. V

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author's Note: Warning, crass language._

* * *

 

** V **

“So, J-Bird, how’s work going?” Leo asked as he and Michael rock-paper-scissored for first serve. Wednesday morning was racquetball morning, a sacrosanct hour of friendly competition and gossip. She and Noelle had started playing as a way to catch up with each other’s lives and help Noelle get in shape for her wedding. They had both found they actually enjoyed it, especially after they started playing doubles. Noelle and her husband Michael versus Janine and her self-described ‘gay husband’ Leo. She and Leo had met while she worked in the administrative office at the Manhattan Museum of Art and Antiquity. He installed exhibitions and took care of all the little technical aspects that went into the literal physical space of an exhibit.

“You knew I switched jobs, right?” Leo won two out of three (scissors over paper, rock over scissors) and tossed the ball to Janine to serve.

“Finally! God, I was more than half tempted to go over there and kick your boss’ dick in.” He would do it too, Janine knew, Leo did not cotton to people getting fresh with women. He was the best to go to dance clubs with. He was also over six feet tall and nothing but lean muscle.

“Yeah, dumped Zaxby.” Janine said as she set her feet to serve. “Now I’m working for the Ghostbusters.” THWHACK. Her serve was strong and true.

“The Ghostbusters?” Leo panted firing off a shot that hit the ceiling and side wall before the front. “Those guys with the unfortunate homemade commercial?”

“The same.” Janine confirmed.

“How’s that going?” Michael called from the back court. He and Noelle had met in school, he had a dual degree in Math and secondary math education, Noelle was an elementary music teacher with a minor in vocal performance. Their relationship was so goddamn cute there were days it drove Janine insane.

“I’ve worked there over a week and have finished three books sittin’ at my desk. They haven’t had more than a few crank calls and a couple of crazies come in from the street. None of us do anything.” It was better than her last job in which she ran her ass off day in and day out, but still. It was kind of boring actually. She brought in a transistor radio the third day because the silence was killing her. Dr. Venkman would occasionally sass her but he spent most of his time reading the paper in his office. Dr. Stantz would greet her and occasionally make small talk as he came into the reception for coffee but that was infrequent. Dr. Spengler rarely appeared anywhere near where she was and when he did he hardly said a word. She was glad for it in a way, he still made her trip over her own tongue, she also hated it, her interest in him was quickly becoming a full-blown crush. She was a woman of thirty plus though, goddamn it, not some thirteen-year-old.

“J-Bird!” Leo called, but it was too late, she missed the return.

“DAMNIT!” Both she and Leo swore as Michael and Noelle laughed. The handsome mathematician bounced the blue ball a few times before setting his feet to serve.

“What are the guys like to work with? Do Leo and I need to go kick their dicks in?” Noelle was closer to Janine than her own sister and vice versa, that mean Michael was more of a brother than her best friend’s husband, he would not be out over-protective-ed.

“They’re alright, you don’t need to get your hackles up.” Janine said as Michael served with immense force, as if he was trying to prove himself a proper defender.

“But what are they like?” Noelle pressed. She’d caught bits and pieces of Janine’s job quest after the night in which she’d poured her best friend into bed. That Friday at the club she’d requested up beat songs about starting over. Noelle had obliged her with ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance’, ‘That’s Life’, and ‘Pick Yourself Up’.[1]

“There’s three of them, all with alphabet soup after their names. Dr. Venkman’s got a mouth on him but is no match for me, a regular  _meyven._ ”[2]Janine back handed the ball into all three walls with a sense of satisfaction, picturing the blue ball landing in the middle of Venkman’s forehead.  _He can’t help that he’s a schmuck_. Her better angels tried to remind her. She ignored them, for the most part.

“Which one’s he in the commercial?” Leo asked.

“He’s the brunette whose hair isn’t sticking up like a paintbrush. Blue eyes, bulb nose, big mouth. The one with the paintbrush hair is Ray Stantz, also a doctor. He’s sweet, in a childish sort of way - excited about everything.”[3]Janine almost smiled. That kind of optimism must be nice. She and Peter Venkman had one thing in common for sure, a deep sense of realism and practicality. Compared to Ray it would probably look like cynicism, but it wasn’t, it was more a desire to not have their hopes dashed against the cliffs of life. Why get your heart broke if you didn’t have to? “He’s been fixing up a car for the company; we chat some while he does that. Knows his way around an engine.” Leo would appreciate that. He liked fixing cars and building shit out of wood. His handiness reminded her of her father.

“Who’s the third?” Noelle asked, sending the ball whizzing by Leo’s ear and laughing manically as he startled.

“Dr. Spengler.” How could Janine even begin to describe Egon Spengler?[4]“He’s brilliant.” He was so much more than that but brilliant was a good one-word summary of everything.

“He the one on the end then?” Michael asked.

“Yes. He’s the tall one with the thick dark hair and glasses, strong jaw and nice deep voice. Jewish and an absolute genius.” Noelle recognized that look in her best friend’s eyes, it was not the glitter of exercise, it was sexual attraction. It had been a while since she’d seen Janine actually interested in someone, not like this. The music teacher filed the information away. Janine deserved to find someone; she’d been alone far too long.

**X**

“You’d like to report a paranormal experience?” Above him Egon could hear the Brooklyn accent of their receptionist as she greeted whomever slammed through the door and jogged him from his work on a pair of heat vision goggles. Specters attempting to materialize took energy from the surrounding air and space, creating cold spots. He hoped to combine heat vision with a PKE meter so that they could see more fully what they were dealing with. He was also hoping there was a way to record PKE and temperature readings automatically, the relationship between the two would be both productive in their work and fodder for a good journal article. Even though he was technically outside the academy Egon refused to give up publishing and peer review.

“Oh, I’ll give you details baby, you see I was abducted by aliens…” The voice said. It was gruff and low. Egon sat aside the visor. An abduction? They’d not investigated one of those in years. Aliens were not his or Ray’s primary interest, especially now that astronomers and astrophysicists were becoming more accepting of the cosmic plurality thesis. SETI was getting funding, those lucky bastards. Ghosts, however, had no scientific community support – that was why his and Stantz’s work was so crucial.

“And I was probed anally… I betcha know all about that dollface. Do ya? Do ya like it?” Egon took the stairs two at a time as he heard the phrase ‘tight little minx’. His gut roiled. Since opening they had one or two  _meshugeners_ but never someone who was crazy and a  _shagetz_.[5]He wished Peter was there, Peter was an asshole of the first order and at times like this it was a blessing. Alas and alack their receptionist’s honor was up to him to defend.

“You bitch!” By the time he burst up from the lab, however, Ms. Melnitz had everything under control. She stood on one side of the reception desk, in her hand an empty coffee cup, an impassive look on her face. Across from her a man stood swearing a streak of filth that would make Peter blush, his face wet and flushed from what was clearly a hot coffee facial.

“Goddamn fucking whore.” The guy growled, still rubbing his eyes.

“Is everything alright, Ms. Melnitz?” He asked, approaching her slowly, trying to sound more…imposing than he felt. She turned and looked up at him, her reading glasses hung from their cord around her neck. As he stood beside her he could feel her shaking and see something in her hazel eyes that ran contrary to her neutral expression and firm voice.

“I spilled my coffee, but thankfully it didn’t get on anything important.” How her wit remained so sharp in the face of a situation that had her literally shaken he did not know.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he stared at the man who was now staring at him, his teeth gnashing, beady eyes clearly calculating an insult.

“Mind taking out the trash for me?” She nodded toward the man. Egon felt his spine straighten and turn to steel. He had never done anything like this before, but he strangely was interested in trying.

“I’m going you fucking cunt. Goddamn stupid bitch can’t take no fucking joke.” The man swore and threatened all the way to the door. Egon followed him, clueless as to what he would do if the guy did anything more than swear.

“I’m gonna sue for assault!” He yelled from the street. Egon stared at him.

“People spill their coffee all the time. I also suggest you seek professional help, we all know little grey men in spaceships do not exist.” It was the meanest thing he could think to say. He shut the door firmly in the man’s face.

Janine had sunk down in her chair and was rubbing her temple with her fingers, eyes closed.

“Are you alright?” He asked, unsure of how close to get at a time like this. He wished Ray was there. Ray was good with people. She didn’t look at him.

“Fine.” She sighed. “Other than I just threw a cuppa coffee in a guy’s face which I’m fairly certain is assault.”

“Would you like another cup, it’s a shame you had to waste it in such an _unfortunate spill_.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. He raised a dark brow. Her hazel gaze meeting his gave him a thrill he couldn’t catalogue. _What, what, WHAT are you doing?_ He could hear his father howling. She handed him her mug, the white porcelain baring a coral colored lipstick mark along the rim. Absent mindedly he ran his thumb over the kiss.

“A fresh cup would be lovely, Dr. Spengler. Black, two sugars.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” He said after a time and for want of things to say. He stirred in two packets of sugar, watching as the dark, hot liquid formed a vortex around the spoon.

“Dr. Spengler, I ride the train to and from work every day. That was not the worst encounter I’ve ever had.” She accepted the refilled cup gratefully. The roiling in his gut returned. Intellectually he knew street harassment was of major concern and the last two years at Columbia all faculty and staff had mandatory training regarding inappropriate conduct. He was appalled with the behavior on principle. Knowing Janine – Ms. Melnitz – dealt with it regularly was different, however. It was worse. It was…personal.

“Frequency does not make it acceptable.” The soft look she gave him made his mind spin like the coffee in her cup. It was a foreign and distracting feeling.

“But it does make me an expert in not letting it ruin my day.” And with that she sat her glasses on the end of her pert nose and he knew he was dismissed.

**X**

Egon Spengler was one of his closest friends but that did not mean Ray understood a damn thing about the man. Like his eating habits. On the one hand he was a junk food junkie. Ray had seen him eat boxes of Chees-its while working on his publications. Then there were days like today where the physicist was so lost in his work he was able to completely ignore how his stomach had been growling for the last two hours. And it had been growling loudly.

“Eeg, you ready to stop for a bit and eat?” Ray asked. Peter had commented on multiple occasions that he was half certain their colleague was something out of  _Star Trek_ , times like this Ray believed.[6]Egon didn’t even look up, though his stomach growled in response.

“If the options are working and cooking I will continue with this thank you.” _So that was how he stayed thin given what he ate._

“And if the choices were delivery and work?” Egon looked up. They were finally on the same page it seemed.

“Thai?” Ray pulled a face.

“Too spicy, how ‘bout pizza?” Egon shook his head.

“Did that Monday, remember?” Ray did, they’d ordered three pizzas since Pizza Hut had been running a special and they could never agree on a topping. Each had been a solid sixteen inches and Egon had finished his (bell pepper and onion) in one night. Any pizza was a personal pizza to Egon Spengler.

“Greek?” Ray offered.

“Mexican?” Egon countered.

“Chinese?” Egon considered for a moment then nodded. He paused again, brows knitting together.

“Do we ask Ms. Melnitz to join us?” The secretary they’d shared at Columbia had been in a separate part of the building and rarely actually interacted with them. She preferred to call if she had to do anything with their office at all. Ray was fairly certain Peter was responsible. Things like that tended to be Peter’s fault.

“Why not?” Ray shrugged, it’d been a week since Miss Barrett’s arrival and they’d had little new to do, but unlike he and Egon who had projects to distract them, their poor secretary had nothing but silent phones and zero filing.

“The usual?” Spengler asked, setting aside his screwdriver.

“Yeah with extra-”

“Extra plum sauce.” Egon finished for him as he headed down the stairs. Perhaps they  
needed to branch out a bit more Ray mused turning back to his cluttered work station. Then it hit him.  _When did Egon commit Janine’s name to memory? And since when did he ever make an attempt at broadening his social circle?_  Ray turned back to where the lanky scientist had stood. _Hmmmm…_

Egon found their sylph-like secretary at her desk crewing on the end of a ballpoint pen as she stared at the  _New York Times_  crossword. She had added a transistor radio to her desk since he had set up her computer, it was a battered thing with a wire hanger and a bit of duct tape for an antenna. Classical music came softly from the speakers. He cleared his throat but was unsuccessful in his attempt not to startle her. She jumped, biting down on the pen and cracking the plastic. Blue ink smeared across her lower lip and cheek as her head snapped to look at him.

“Dr. Spengler.” She said in surprise. “We’ve not had any calls.”

“I’ve heard.” He replied, the blue ink on her lips was distracting. “Ray and I were going to order Chinese; would you care to join us?” She blinked at him.

“I just ate actually,” She said, nodding toward a wadded-up paper sack in the trash bin by her desk. “Do you need me to order for you?”

“You would not-” As he spoke she reached into her desk drawer and produced a familiar stack of take-away menus, on top was the food stained menu from their preferred Chinese delivery place. Long ago Ray had gone through and circled their favorite dishes, so they could order without having to actually consult one another as they worked.

“Numbers two, seven, thirteen, seventeen, and twenty-three, right?” The ink was now staining her fingertips as she looked up at him for conformation.

“Extra plum sauce with number thirteen.” She nodded, eyes skimming the dishes associated with each number.

“Who gets the Cheng Du Chicken? It’s my favorite.” Egon looked down at her half-finished crossword. The ink on her lip was horribly distracting as were her food preferences. He suddenly felt as hot as his favorite chili chicken dish.

“Right.” She said when he didn’t respond. “Looking at the receipts you’ve accumulated since opening I’ve started a ‘Take out’ account to fund your guys’ eating habits, should I just pay out of that?” He nodded, she’d misspelled ‘Mycologist’ in her puzzle and it was making him twitch.[7]Carefully, avoiding the leaking end he took the pen from her hand as she dialed the delivery number. Briefly his fingers grazed hers.

Janine felt a tingle shoot through her at the touch of Dr. Spengler’s writing calloused hand; she nearly botched the order as the sensation shot through her. He was correcting her crossword she realized, large hand filing in some answer she’d missed. He had really nice hands she noticed in spite of herself, long and dexterous, he could reach the tenth no problem, perhaps even the eleventh on the edge.[8]He probably didn’t even play the piano, but if he did he could be very good with a span like that. She glanced up and met his dark brown gaze, she’d been caught staring.  _Goddamnit._  If she was going to keep working here she needed to nip this stupid crush in the bud.

“Should be here in thirty.” She told him, as if that was what she had intended to do the entire time. She wasn’t sure if it was convincing, but he made no indication either way. He simply nodded and turned to return to the lab. Distracted by the fit of his slacks over his rear Janine picked up her puzzle.

_Mycologist_  was spelled with a ‘y’ apparently. He’d filled in a second answer as well, one she’d not started yet. His handwriting was hardly more than jagged lines and for a moment they were illegible, but as she studied the scratches more closely and read and reread the clue she slowly figured out what he had filled in. Twelve letters, organ thief.

_Stole my heart._

Janine looked up to where the lanky scientist had been, but he was out of sight.

It was then she noticed the giant blue stain on her hand and the ink leaking from her pen.  _Shit._  Digging through her purse Janine pulled out a Kleenex and her compact. There, across her lips, front teeth, cheek, and chin ink reflected back at her. No wonder he’d been staring.  _Real smooth Melnitz_  she groaned.

Dr. Venkman arrived back from whatever he does with himself during the day at the same time as the delivery guy did which meant he took care of paying for it and taking it up to the kitchen on the top floor. Before ascending the stairs, he dropped the receipt on her desk, looking her up and down.

“You’re still here?” Given the nature of their work, Venkman had told her as they signed the paperwork, there would be more calls and business in the evening and at night which meant she worked from ten until eight with an hour off for lunch and dinner (although that time was more or less spent at her desk anyway).

“Yes, Dr. Venkman. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

“With that attitude it’s still a wonder.” He flipped back at her over his shoulder. Janine rolled her eyes and busied herself with the receipt.  She knew Peter Venkman was 90% bluster. She was actually glad to see him for once, however. His arrival meant that she wouldn’t have to speak with Dr. Spengler anytime soon. Her cheeks still burned knowing he’d seen her with blue ink all over her lips, teeth, chin, and tongue. It was neither professional nor attractive, and more than any other job she’d worked she desperately wanted Egon Spengler to think she was both. Doing her best not to dwell on it meant that it was the only thing on her mind for the rest of the evening.

**X**

Eight p.m. did not arrive promptly; in fact, it felt like it was about an eternity late. Its delay was compounded by her utter lack of distraction. There was no typing. No filing. No phone calls. Her mind wondered away from Poirot every time she opened her book. She just could not bring herself to care who murdered Roger Ackroyd. She was thinking about him. Damn him. Damn her. He was her boss for Christsake.  _What, what, WHAT are you doing?_ She could hear her mother howling.

And yet in spite of her mental protests she could still feel his comforting presence beside her the day she’d thrown coffee at a creep off the street, which was nearly two days ago now. She could still feel the way his hands had touched her briefly that evening when he took her pen from her to work her crossword.  _Stole my heart._  It was literally the correct answer to the clue and NOT a secret message. She reminded herself of that for the fifth time. Frustrated she began to pack up her desk. She switched off her radio, the hateful thing playing Cole Porter as if it was trying to mock her.

She was replacing her low heel pumps with tennis shoes when the phone rang. For a second, she just looked at in surprise before acting on instinct and years of training. She picked it up,

“Ghostbusters.” On the other end of the line a very pretentious sounding voice responded.

“Is this the company that advertises ghost removal?” Followed by an impatient “Are they serious?”

“Yes, it is … Yes, of course they’re serious.” This was not the typical phone call she’d received in her brief period on the job. No one was ranting and raving, the stupid, affected posh accent hadn’t asked what she was wearing or if the refrigerator was running. 

“Good, good.” The voice said. He sounded nervous, under all that upper-class stiffness. “I’m the manager of the Sedgwick Hotel and I am in need of their services. Guests have seen a well… Ghost. We have a ghost in our hotel.” Even though logically she knew she would one day get a call about a ghost given she was working for a company that specialized in them Janine still felt her jaw drop.

 “You do!  You have!” Finally, after too long the doctors would actually get to do their job. She was actually getting to do hers. It was a heady feeling even if one didn’t count the whole ethereal plane bit.

“Can they come immediately, we would like this taken care of tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Janine said. She dropped down into her chair and pulled the yellow work order pad toward her they were going to need an address, and possibly a moment to get over the shock of actually having a job. “Well, they’re out on another case now, but if you’ll give me the address.” She lied effortlessly. The pompous voice at the end of the line heaved a heavy sigh and rattled off the address even though everyone in New York knew where the Sedgwick was.

“We don’t want the guests to know that there’s something wrong. This would be catastrophic to our reputation.” He told her rather condescendingly. Janine fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was amazing what being excited did to her cynical personal. She could actually feel herself smiling with excitement.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be totally discreet.” She assured him, and the line went dead. Hopping to her feet she whooped and hit the alarm button with relish.

“WE GOT ONE!”

* * *

 

 [1]Like I said, Noelle is Natalie Cole. With a brief moment of Frank Sinatra.

[2]Yiddish, an expert, but like sarcastically.

[3]I realized I’ve called Ray childish several times now, which is funny considering one of my annoyances with Ghostbusters II and like the cartoons and stuff is how they flanderized Ray into a cleaned-up shadow of the man who drank beer during Dana’s interview and smoked constantly in the first movie. I am trying to strike a balance between joy, energy, and optimism, and the fact he’s a grown-ass man who smokes, drinks, etc.

[4]Egon Spengler is Flawless. I hear his hair is insured for $10,000.

[5] _Meshugeners_ ; Yiddish, a crazy person. _Shagetz_ , also Yiddish, it means a non-Jewish boy but with the particular connotation that they are unruly and violent, dangerous.

[6]Despite his best impressions, Egon Spengler is not, in fact, a Vulcan.

[7]Mycology is the branch of biology that studies fungus. So naturally Egon would know how it was spelled.

[8]This is one way to measure hand span, the tenth refers to the further interval a player can play with one hand from thumb to pinky.I imagine Janine learned to play piano as a child, she enjoyed it but didn’t keep up with it after she graduated high school. She still can read music and enjoys it, but unlike Noelle won’t be performing live anytime soon.


	7. VI

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

**  
VI **

For a long moment Ray had no idea what that ringing sound was, other than fucking annoying. He looked up from his Beef and Broccoli to ask Egon – who appeared equally as perplexed. Realization dawned on them both in the same glorious moment. That God-awful ringing was the old fire alarm, not heard since they’d rewired the place. It going off now meant that not only were he and Spengler competent electricians but they’d had a call – a real, legitimate call. Excitement spread through him like a flame. They had a job.

Reality had dawned for Egon and Peter as well and suddenly they were on their feet scrambling to follow steps established in the theoretical. The first practical test! Ray thought as he leapt for the fire pole which led from the top floor kitchen to the ground level garage. The chilly metal caught him in the temple and Ray felt the world spin on a different axis.

Egon followed Ray uncertainly to the pole. He’d not used one before in his life and was not keen on changing that. Even with the promise of data. He stepped cautiously to the fastest way downstairs and held on tightly as the ground abandoned him. Peter watched his colleagues slide down the pole in the most true-to-form ways imaginable – Ray leaping like a child and suffering for his excitement. Peter saw stars on Ray’s behalf after watching the engineer coldcock himself. Egon looked uncertain, distressed and stuffy as he slid to the garage and Peter idly wondered as he closed the take-out lid over his Shrimp Lo Mein if Spegs had ever seen one of these on a playground before – or if the egghead had ever set foot on a playground before. Peter could understand his friends’ excitement, this was, if true, the first test of their equipment – their theories – their livelihoods. It was all building to this moment. If he was anyone else Peter would be ecstatic. But he was Peter Charles Venkman and he knew better. Clamping his chopsticks between is teeth he slid down the pole. He wasn’t going to face crushing disappointment on an empty stomach.

It took a New York cabbie twenty minutes to get to the Sedgwick Hotel from their perch in Tribeca. Ray made it in eleven. The siren certainly helped to move traffic but more than that Ray’s complete disregard for speed limits or breaking around corners meant they made good time and that Peter was never in his entire life so happy to see land again. Egon looked decidedly green as they entered the ornate lobby of the city landmark.

The manger rushed to intercept them with more hustle than a Giant’s defensive player. He too looked a little pale under his black tie.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” He said in an affected posh accent that made Peter want to roll his eyes. “The guests are starting to ask questions and I’m running out of excuses.”

“Has this ever happened before?” Ray asked. Peter on the whole felt that he was much better with people than either of his colleagues, but this was Ray’s wheelhouse. He had a patience Peter lacked when it came to ghosts, ghouls, and the twits who saw them.

“Don’t worry we handle this kind of thing all the time.” Ray assured the manager. Peter couldn’t help his indignant snort as they headed for the elevator.

Some old comic and his wife stood at the elevator bank, side eying them as they approached Peter could see the snide comment twitching on his lips from twenty paces.

“What are you guys, half assed cosmonauts?” _Hilarious_.

“We’re exterminators.” Peter lied with ease. It was a plausible ruse and would annoy the manager to imply there were roaches in “the historic” Hotel Sedgewick which made it all the better.

“That’s gotta be some cockroach.” The elevator arrived.

“Bite your leg off.” Peter said, holding the door for the stoically uncomfortable couple.

“Going up?” Ray asked cheerfully.

“I’ll take the next one.”

“I just realized something.” Ray said as the elevator passed the fourth floor. “We’ve never had a completely successful test with any of this equipment.”

“I blame myself.” And he did. Egon could list at least six more metrics he wanted to test and adjust. The lack of Business had lulled him into complacency. He didn’t like it. In his head his father was furious. It was a sham. He was a sham.

“No sense worrying about it now.” Ray said brightly. It did little to assuage Egon’s ire and self-loathing.

“Sure.” Venkman chimed in sarcastically. “Each of us is wearing an unlicensed nuclear accelerator on our back. Why worry?” Spengler could appreciate Venkman’s sarcasm in that moment more than Ray’s dogged optimism.

“Switch me on?” Ray was undeterred.

Intellectually Egon knew that pressing to the outside of the elevator would do nothing if the proton pack decided to explode. He also knew he’d been working with fusion since he was ten, so the packs wouldn’t have problems. Yet he still felt better pressed in the farthest corner from Ray for the duration of the elevator ride.

**X**

Five minutes into their first “bust” and it was getting fucked up.

“Nice shootin’ Tex.” Peter drawled once Ray had laid off the proton beam. He had nearly killed the poor maid who had startled him. As it was the beam had ripped through her cart, scorched the carpet, and started a small fire.

“We’d better adjust our streams.” Was Egon’s comment. _No Shit._ Not only were the unlicensed nuclear reactors heavy as hell but they were definitely going to get someone killed. Spengler led the way down the hall, his egghead buried in his ever present PKE meter.

“Something was definitely here.” Whatever it was it smelled like literal shit.

“I’m getting strong readings in the duct system.” After nearly frying a woman Ray had taken his hand off the trigger and strapped on heat seeking PKE goggles that made him look like an alien.

“If it’s in the vents it could be anywhere, but we smell it everywhere.”

“Let’s split up gang!” Peter only mostly felt like Scooby-fucking-Doo. His colleagues agreed. Egon turned down the first hallway, crouching almost comically, taking readings at the baseboard. Ray took the stairs up, practically skipping as he went in search of proof of ghosts. Venkman headed downstairs, hoping for a lounge somewhere so he could dump his pack and sit down.

**~**

“God, it’s ugly.” Over their walkie-talkies Peter could hear Ray’s encounter with the shit stain. He rolled his eyes and fished in his pocket for a cigarette. Yeah, he wasn’t supposed to smoke in the hotel, but the place already smelled so bad, Camels were an improvement.

“This bites,” He groused to himself around his cigarette. “I actually work for a company called ‘Ghostbusters’.”

The sweet, life giving first hit of nicotine was utterly ruined by the PKE meter in his pocket going off and an intensification of the shit smell – to the point he could hardly breathe.

“Ray, something’s here.” The meter was going wild in his hand and down the perpendicular hall in front of him a service cart rolled dramatically, and independently. Following it, a beat later, was the shit stain.

If stink had a visible form this was it. The vapor was blob shaped and putrid green with spindly arms and a gaping maw.

Venkman froze, hoping the apparition couldn’t see him if he didn’t move. No such luck. Slowly it turned.

“Ray. It’s staring at me.” Peter Venkman did not scare easily but he was cold blooded terrified now.

Suddenly the thing charged and all he could do was scream.

The vapor passed through him, leaving a coating of reeking ooze in its wake. The smell was staggering, however that and the freezing cold he felt as the ghost passed through him, he was fine.

“I’ve been slimed.” He moaned into the radio. Of course, Egon would immediately ask for a sample. Typical. And his cigarettes were soggy. Peter banged his head a little on the floor beneath him.

“I feel so funky.”

**~**

“Ray! It’s here! It just went into the Banquet room on the third floor!” Even though the vapor was appalling Ray was still giddy as a school boy. This was now the second contact with the ethereal plane they had had. And this time they were recording so much more data. And they’d actually capture and contain the entity – it promised so much – Further research opportunities and proof of the practical applications of their work. He felt like dancing – except the damn packs weighed a ton.

The banquet room was set up for a formal dinner, although mercifully empty. After nearly killing a poor woman Ray was very aware of the power and danger in his hands. Carefully he scanned the room, the specially designed goggles giving him detailed PKE and heat signatures.

“There! On the ceiling!” The spud’s signature glowed so brightly he was nearly blinded. Dropping to one knee he fired at the vapor, missing it and obliterating a chandelier. He would have felt more discouraged about his aim except Peter was equally as hopeless. The packs were heavy, and the beams were so powerful they were nearly unmanageable.

“Wait! Wait!” It was Spengler. Ray had rarely heard him so urgent and animated.

“There’s something I forgot to tell you.” He confessed. “Don’t cross the streams.” He was emphatic. Ray looked at Peter, who looked at Ray and then Egon.

“Why?”

“It would be bad.”

“I’m a little fuzzy on the whole ‘good/bad’ thing. What do you mean, ‘bad’?” Ray tried to think, he’d help with the packs but ultimately the science and designs were all Egon. The Physicist spoke,

“Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.”

“Total protonic reversal.” Ray realized as soon as Egon mentioned it, of course!

“Right. That’s bad. Okay. All right. Important safety tip. Thanks, Egon.” Peter was exceedingly glib with the information, but Ray knew that was part of the man’s coping mechanism. The more flippant the more rattled he was.

In the process of capturing the vapor they had destroyed two chandlers, six tables, and Egon might have seriously damaged his eyes looking into the trap. But they had captured and contained the Ghost. It WORKED. Ray felt like jumping in the air and whooping for joy – except he felt like jello – emotional and physical jello. Gingerly he picked up the now smoking trap.

**~**

“We came! We saw! We kicked its ASS!”

Peter was Egon’s first friend. His father had warned against frivolous attachments and his accelerated education had prevented socializing with peers his own age. Finally making a friend had so bewildered and enamored him that Egon was chagrin to admit it had gotten the better of him. Peter would not have passed two of his seminars without Egon’s help (well, direct intervention). He’d even once helped bail him out of a particularly sticky Q&A from across the room.

He was not proud of it morally, but Peter’s ability to cheat was based on their success with non-verbal communication. Peter could read Egon. He always could. It helped make him his best friend (it also made the Psychologist extremely dangerous to any of Egon’s well-kept secrets and repressed feelings). This knack for communication came in handy when negotiating payment,

There was always something they missed. In this case they never figured out what they would charge for their services. Working on the fly Egon calculated about how much they’d need to keep the lights on, make rent, and pay Janine – Ms. Melnitz’s – salary.

Five thousand dollars was a lot, but they did need the money, and more importantly the Sedgwick could afford it.

**X**

Janine waited. And worried. The guys (her guys) had left over an hour ago on their first job. She was anxious that they were alright. Moreover, she was dyingof curiosity. Had they actually caught a ghost?

Her curiosity kept her at the firehouse even though she could have been home by now. Her anxiety kept her from sitting still. She’d tidied her desk, cleaned the kitchen up and packed away the guys’ dinner and made herself a cup of tea for want of something to do. She’d almost started sweeping and dusting when the garage door opened, and the converted Cadillac pulled in.

“We did it!” Dr. Stantz victoriously announced, holding up a metal box by a long cord like he’d caught a record breaking bass. All three doctors looked exhausted and beat to hell, but also elated. Even Dr. Spengler was as close to smiling as she’d ever seen him (her traitorous heart leapt at that).

“You did it? You got one? What was it?” Tentatively Janine approached the box – the ghost trap. A wave of negative energy hit her like a rock. She was very sensitive to such things and she did not like how that thing felt. They really had caught a ghost.

“Class Five full roaming vapor.” Dr. Stantz glared at the trap accusingly, “A real nasty one too.” Behind them Doctors Spengler and Venkman were unloading the trunk.

“Weren’t you heading home when we left? You’re not getting overtime for this.” Venkman quipped, hauling an overly complicated backpack out of the Ecto-1. Janine ignored him.

“Can I see it?”

Ray looked from the trap to their secretary and shrugged. The thing was ugly but the worst damage it’d done to a person, so far as they could tell, was slime Peter and make everything smell funky as fuck.

“Sure.” Ray led the way to the basement and the containment unit, fully installed and just waiting to be used. Peter and Egon followed behind them, Venkman shedding his reeking jumpsuit as they went. They’d have to invest in a heavy-duty washer and dryer if they were going to keep getting slimed. Hopefully the ectoplasm wouldn’t cause long-term problems. The last thing they needed was a haunted pair of coveralls.[1]

Downstairs in the lab Ray carefully emptied the trap. The moment the spook was incarcerated in the unit he could tell – the all clear sign unnecessary. The energy in the entire basement changed. It felt different downstairs. _If we keep bringing home these things we’re going to need to burn some sage or this will be unbearable._

Once the ghost was in the machine Ray brought the viewer, that allowed the earthly to view the ethereal, down. Inside the ugly spud zoomed manically, trying to escape. He offered Janine the next turn at the viewer. Ray had never really registered how short their office manager was compared to herself, but to see in the viewer she was on her tippy, tiptoes.

“Oh wow.” She whispered, clearly in awe. Her reaction made everything seem more real. Someone else was seeing what they saw.

Janine dropped down off her tiptoes and stumbled slightly. Before Ray could reach out to steady her Egon’s hand shot forward and caught her arm. Stantz glanced from his friend’s large hand to his face. There was something in Egon’s expression he’d never seen before. It flitted quickly over the Physicist’s features before disappearing behind his usual stoic façade, but Ray saw it.

_Huh._

“That was very brave what you all did tonight.” Janine said, looking at the containment unit. Egon had released her, albeit reluctantly.

“It’s late,” He observed, glancing at his watch. “How are you planning on getting home tonight, Ms. Melnitz?” The petite woman shrugged.

“The usual.”

“The Subway?” The Physicist’s face was absolutely thunderstruck, his jaw clenched.

Venkman stepped forward as slick as he ever was.

“Since we just successfully completed our first job let us celebrate by paying for your cab home.”

As Peter watched the taxi pull away he admitted to himself he was a little touched that Janie had stayed and waited for their return. It was a nice, supportive gesture and, as cynical as he was, he still was not immune to nice, supportive gestures. However, the significant factor that led him to see the auburn-haired Brooklynite safely in a taxi had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Spengler. In the _years_ Peter had known the man he had never seen him behave like he was now.

He’d have to keep an eye on developments.

But first he was getting himself a celebratory beer and cigarette.

* * *

 

[1]I believe haunted coveralls is what the Real Ghostbusters used to explain why the guys got different colored jumpsuits for the series.


	8. VII

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

** VII **

 

Janine arrived at the Firehouse the next morning to find Dr. Spengler standing over her desk, phone caught between ear and shoulder as he took notes. She checked her watch quickly before taking a moment to check him out. She wasn’t late to work, and he was out of last night’s jumpsuit and back in, at least some of his usual civilian clothes. In a concession to the muggy July weather he had forgone his usual three layers and instead stood before her in chinos and his shirtsleeves. He was still wearing a tie, thankfully. Janine wasn’t confident she wouldn’t melt if she got a glimpse of Adam’s apple. His forearms were already exceedingly distracting. She’d always had a thing for guys with their sleeves rolled up. And she had a thing for Dr. Spengler, period. Hands down. She was a walking cliché having the hots for her boss.

“Apologies, Ms. Melnitz, for occupying your space.” He guiltily stepped away from her desk after hanging up.

“If the phone rings, the phone rings. No worries.” Why was she blushing? God, this was awkward, and it shouldn’t be.

“Yes. It has been ringing fairly consistently this morning. I think we’ll all be busy today.”

“Oh?” Janine took her seat and busied herself with watering the African violet on her desk, very aware that Spengler was still at her elbow. Without his usual waistcoat and blazer, she had a clearer visual of how he was built. And it was as she suspected – he was broad shouldered and solid. Perhaps not as built as Michael or Leo were, but they worked at it. This was just him, naturally.

“Yes, we’ve had calls from three reporters already and I have reason to expect more. That was another perspective client.”

“Wow.” Four phone calls before she’d gotten in after nothing but cranks for weeks was shocking.

“Indeed. Last night’s success has significantly bolstered our public profile.”

“Pulling a ghost out of the Sedgwick will certainly do that.” Spengler didn’t smile, but his eyebrows seemed to quirk in amusement.

“Oh, good morning, Janine.” Dr. Stantz greeted her cheerfully, dropping down the fireman’s pole for no apparent reason other than it was fun.

“Egon, I was thinking…” the engineer began, drawing the physicist away. Janine found herself letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. As her two bosses conversed she focused on getting settled into her day and getting a grip on her crush. _Seriously Janine_.

“Alright, why don’t I go down to the Office of the Registrar and you get Janine up to speed.” Hearing her name out of Dr. Stantz’s mouth gave Janine a start. She looked up. Stantz was animated with a new sort of energy and Spengler was vaguely perplexed. The look only grew as his colleague announced,

“I’m going to go change then see what I can find.” He bounded up the stairs. Janine wasn’t sure what had gotten to the man. It was hotter than hell out and he was already wearing the most weather appropriate outfit – a tee shirt and faded jeans. Surly going to the registrar and Office of Buildings didn’t require a tie.

The phone ringing cut her train of thought short and interrupted whatever Dr. Spengler was gearing up to say.

“Ghostbusters, how my I help you?”

**X**

Ray fidgeted with his collar the entire train ride to the Registrar’s office. He didn’t begrudge Pete and Egon the car, since it was the only way to get their equipment to a bust, but he missed the calming focus driving and parking required. Taking the subway allowed his mind to wonder, which meant he was second guessing literally everything. Was khakis and an oxford too much?

_She might not even be working today._  That thought did not help him.

_Jeez, Ray, get a grip. She was a student._

_Yeah, emphasis on was, _a traitorous part of his brain that sounded like Pete, piped up. _Over four years ago._

“Oh! Dr. Stantz. How good to see you again.”

Cosette Richards.

She was breathtaking as always.

“Hello, Miss Richards, how has your morning been?” The first time he’d gotten to teach Supernatural Studies, spring semester his first year at Columbia, she had taken it. As a senior just taking credits until graduation he’d expected her to be apathetic – so many of her peers had assumed he would be an easy A. Instead she’d sat front row, left of center and been a beacon of light that entire class. Always did the readings, raised her hand to answer his questions in lecture, came to his office hours to ask her own. She’d aced the class with the highest score out of not only her cohort but also subsequent classes.

“I have been asking you to call me Cosette since 1980.” She admonished lightly. Her voice was as lovely as the rest of her and carried a slight accent he could never place. She claimed she was born and raised in New York, maybe back when it was New Amsterdam – it was too continental, rich, and refined.

“Well, perhaps if you started calling me Ray, I’m not at the University anymore.”

“Maybe…Ray.” She tried his name out like it was a foreign concept.

“Hopefully, Cosette.”

For a moment neither knew exactly what to say. She looked every inch the young twenty something with her long, long blonde hair swept away from her face and pulled back in a ponytail with a large navy-blue bow.

“What can I help you with, Doctor-Ray.” He had to be imagining that she was blushing slightly. Or maybe it was the weather, it was a touch warm in the records room.

**X**

“I assure you, someone will return your call as soon as possible.” Janine did her absolute best to keep her tone professional, but this journalist was just too much. He would not accept that no one was around to speak to him – like nothing else could possibly be going on in the world. He’d even started quoting her the first amendment like saying “please leave a message” was government infringement on the free press.

As the garage door opened she quickly rang off, letting her frustration out on the phone tray. Doctor Venkman and Spengler alighted the car, neither looking nearly as worn as they had the night before.

“A bad feeling in her basement,” Venkman was complaining, stripping off his flight suit down to a faded Columbia tee shirt and jeans. “It wasn’t even a ghost!” Janine felt her stomach drop. She’d sent them on that errand.

“It was a fair mistake,” Spengler replied, also removing his coveralls. “The electromagnetic field was intense. Given the risk of a fire I am relieved we alerted her of just how faulty the home’s wiring was.”[1]

“Janine, next time make sure it’s really a ghost, putting the full kit on in this weather is murder.”

“’m sorry, Dr. Venkman-” Janine began, but was cut off by Dr. Spengler.

“It’s not her fault, Peter, we’ve not briefed her on the classification system.”[2]

“Whatever,” Venkman announced, he dropped a slip onto her desk. “She paid with a Visa.”

“Why don’t you call some of the reporters back from this morning?” Spengler appeared to be close to glaring at his colleague and friend as he spoke.

“Another journalist called while you were out.” Janine held up the information she had taken. Peter snatched it up and stalked to his office.

“Peter doesn’t handle heat or physical exertion well.” Dr. Spengler observed, dryly. “Although,” he tugged at his collar, tie still knotted, “he has a point about the coveralls, they’re a bit warm.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t wear a tie under them.” The thought dropped out of her brain and into her mouth and out into the open like a gumball from a machine. He looked at her blankly for a moment.

“Yes, well… I am going to go, uh, get some things and then Ray suggested that we bring you in the loop on our classification system. It will be of tremendous use if we know ahead of time what sort of entity we are encountering.” Janine nodded. It didn’t feel like a reprimand, though she could see in his eyes that the call they had just been on perturbed him as well as Venkman.

Awkwardly he departed, and Janine picked up the credit card slip. One hundred dollars. Last night the Sedgwick had coughed up five grand. The classification system was important, sure, but what the hell was their pricing scheme?[3]

**X**

Egon changed his shirt to a less sweaty oxford and tried to not think about how forgoing a tie made him feel naked. No jacket, no vest, no tie – utterly exposed. He downed a full glass of water before refilling it and bring it with him downstairs.

At the foot of the stairs he stopped dead. The sight whipped through him like the first cold wind of winter – he was completely unprepared; his breath caught, senses tingled, his eyes nearly watered at the power.

Fingers of golden sun fell across her desk, she lifted her chin to feel the gentle caress of light, her face relaxed and youthful with a sense of contentment only small pleasures could bring. Clearly, she thought she was alone, and in her private moment she was unguarded. On her desk a small radio played a piano sonata and he watched as she fingered along on the edge of her desk with one hand as she consulted some records on her desktop.[4]

Egon shook himself. He had gotten distracted. _Doctor Spengler! Get a grip on yourself._ His father’s voice admonished in his head. Darwin Spengler had some choice words for those who allowed themselves to be distracted by such trifling things like a pretty face. _You are a scientist, Doctor Spengler, act like one instead of a hormonal teen._ He sipped his water and squared his shoulders.

“Ms. Melnitz,” he announced himself. The office manager started slightly and looked up at him. “As I said, you need to be aware of at least the broad outlines of the classification system. Do you have time now?”

“Of course, provided,” she gestured to the phone, “we’re not interrupted.” Awkwardly Egon snagged a stray chair from Peter’s office.

 

Contrary to popular belief it was possible to impress Egon. One only had to do something impressive. While he was not one for false praise, he was also not one for false criticism either. Egon was impressed now, looking at the map Janine – Ms. Melnitz - had sketched out as they spoke. Things had been a little rough at first, trying to explain years of research and theorizing to a non-specialist but the redhead had surprised him with her ability to quickly identify what he needed to clarify and asking good questions until they both understood one another. That had evolved into a report which resulted in the chart now between them on her desk. Ms. Melnitz appeared to be a visual learner as she had drawn for herself a flowchart of diagnostic questions. _Did you see it/ What does it look like?_  was at the top of the chart, from there arrows pointed to different categories of response: Nothing/vague, Human, not human, demonic. From there follow up questions flowed until she had a concise description of specters classes I-VII.

**X**

“Soooo,” Leo over enunciated as he handed her the Pimm’s Cup she’d requested.[5]“Your bosses have made the news I see.” Every first and third Friday of the month Noelle sang with a jazz band at a cozy speakeasy style bar, St. James Infirmary. In addition to racquetball, meeting up for live jazz was traditional among their friends group. Noelle would sing and they’d all gossip over cocktails.

Janine felt herself blush in spite of herself. She only hoped the lights were low enough that her friends couldn’t see.

“Did they really catch a ghost?” Michael asked over his beer and she felt herself relax.

“yes!”

“You’re serous?”

“Leo, you know how sensitive I am to energy. I was in the office when they came back, I felt it – I saw it.” She sipped her drink as Noelle counted off for the band the last song of their first set.

_“Thou swell, thou witty, thou grand_  
Wouldst kiss me pretty? Wouldst hold my hand?   
Thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me Hear me holler,   
I choose a sweet lollapalooza in thee…” **[6]**

Every damn song Noelle had played that night had been about love. Combined with Christopher’s heavy-handed bartending for his regulars, Janine was really feeling her crush on Dr. Spengler, as well as her chagrin at being thirty-two, single, in the Mojave Desert of dry spells, with a crush on her boss like a green girl half her age.

“J-Bird!” Noelle greeted them all after her first set. She’d have about half an hour to relax before her second set. “You look lovely! I hope these two haven’t been too much of a cockblock.” Janine, along with Michael and Leo, laughed. Although her tone was a touch sadder and theirs’s a bit malevolent.

“It’s a new dress and the perfect excuse to wear it.” And she was grateful. Janine had fallen in love with the cheery, canary yellow one shoulder, ruffled knee length dress when she’d seen it back in March but hadn’t had a reason, or the right weather, to wear it since then.

“Jay was just defending her new bosses,” Michael informed his talented wife. “Ghosts apparently do exist.”

“I told you, I saw it.” She was fairly certain Michael was winding her up. She was absolutely certain it was working. “Furthermore, I’m not the only one.”

“Your bosses don’t count.”

“I’m not taking about them, Leo. We’ve had calls all week – at least three house calls a day. They’re running their asses off. I was almost late tonight because it’s been so busy.”

“Are they appreciating you as much as they should be ‘round the office?” Noelle asked. Janine sat back and sipped her drink. Did she feel appreciated? Well, compared to Zaxby and his wonder hands even Peter Venkman was a vast improvement. Venkman and Ray had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, both calling her Janine with some warmth. Peter had carved out a space as her verbal foil, bickering with one another to pass the time. He was quick witted and sarcastic which made it fun. Ray was sweet and friendly, always excited about something. He liked to sing along with the blues station while he worked on the car and he always volunteered to give her a hand.[7]

Then there was Dr. Spengler. It wasn’t that he wasn’t polite or appreciative – because he was. He was just so damn formal and distant. It, of course, hurt more because, of the three, she didn’t want him at a distance at all.

“They’re all properly appreciative, Elle, no worries.”

“You hesitated.” Noelle challenged.

“Do Leo and I need to kick some dicks in?”

“What?! No.” Janine sighed. These assholes were her best friends and yet it was still hard admitting the truth to herself, let alone aloud.

“They’re all consummate professionals.” That was too generous for Peter Venkman, but since he complimented rather than scolded her for the blue streak she swore after spilling coffee on herself she wasn’t going to complain.

“Is that the problem? You wish one of them was less so?” Damn Noelle. Having a best friend was not all it was cracked up to be when they called you out on stuff.

“Five minutes Noelle.” The band leader announced, passing their table and making eyes at Leo.

“Go sing the blues, Lady.”[8]Janine deflected. Noelle rose but gave her best friend a meaningful look.

“Oooo girl,” Leo and Michael both leaned forward, elbows on the table, chins on their fists.

“Tell us everything! Who is it? Details!”

“I hate you both.”

Noelle appeared back on stage to an enthusiastic round of applause. The band began the second set slower than they had ended it. Taking up the mic Noelle began the verse.

“ _Better face the facts, ol’ buddy and be prepared to take the blow. You don’t have to sit and study, it’s something anyone should know, shake hands… get your hat… and go…_ ”[9]Noelle’s light eyes met hers across the bar. “You can praise his eyes and adore his hair but if love ain’t there it ain’t there.” _Oh! Bitch!_   Was Janine’s first thought. Janine’s second thought was _Fair_. She needed to be more frank with herself. The song was just pointing out the blatantly obvious.

**X**

Janine arrived at the firehouse the next Monday morning to find Dr. Spengler standing over her desk, phone caught between ear and shoulder as he took notes. This was becoming a habit. The physicist greeted her with a nod as she sat her purse down and went to the ancient coffeemaker for a cup.

“I’m afraid I can’t say when exactly we’ll be able to get to your case, but it will be sometime this afternoon.” Janine stirred her coffee and watched as the doctor rubbed his temple as he listened to the response. It was glaringly obvious he was tense. _It’s not even noon!_

“I understand that. If it’s any consolation it sounds like you have a focused, terminal, repeating, full torso ghost, a class III. They are frightening but relatively harmless.”[10]The response to that made him jerk the phone from his ear. Janine could clearly hear a male voice yelling to “get over here” and _that_  was not a consolation.

“We’ll do our best.” He assured him without confidence before hanging up. The hand which had been rubbing his temple shifted to his neck.

“Coffee, Dr. Spengler?” he sighed.

“I better not, but that you. I’ve finished one pot already.” Janine looked at her watch.

“You must have been up very early.” She commented, approaching her desk.

“More like never went to bed.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, not,” it didn’t look like he was. There were circles under his eyes, which appeared weary, and a slight pallor to his skin. “A handful of calls about what sounded like class I entities, four class II mists, two class III – one of which was particularly stubborn, two class V full-roaming vapors, and a demonic pig. We also got reports of another class IV which will require research.”[11]

Janine stared at him.

“Yesterday alone?”

“We started making house calls around noon, finished the last one around three. Then there was the data to record…” Of course, he spent the rest of the night taking notes rather than getting some sleep. Scientists! All those brains and no common sense.

“You should really take better care of yourself.” She admonished gently, touching his elbow. The first deliberate contact they’d shared since he shook her hand the first day.

“More traps will help, too much time was lost in traffic coming back here to empty them.” A small explosion from the basement interrupted them. At the sound Dr. Spengler grasped her arm and quickly scanned her face before turning to look at the basement stairs.

“For FUCK’S SAKE!” Dr. Stantz’s voice carried up the stairs along with a faint sulfuric-metallic sent.

“I should go help. Excuse me.” Spengler said, his dark eyes dropping to his hand on her arm before departing. Janine sat down gracelessly in her chair but did not have much of a chance to think about how her arm tingled where he had touched her before the phone rang.

“Ghostbusters.”

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

[1]One of the explanations for ghosts used by skeptics is that electric magnetic fields create feelings of dread in people who spend too long exposed them, so people freak out and stuff without reason – or ghosts.

[2]The classification system I’ll be using is more or less based on what the Ghostbusters Wiki describes as the video game classifications.

[3]A good question Janine.

[4]This scene set to Natalie Cole’s “Like a lover”. Highly recommend.

[5]Pimm’s Cup is a cocktail made with Pimm’s gin, ginger ale or seven up and a bunch of fruit. It’s very refreshing and fruity. Good summertime drink.

[6] _Thou Swell_ has been performed many times, including by Natalie Cole.

[7]Dan Ackroyd is a major blues fan, inspiring the 1980 movie The Blues Brothers in which he starred alongside John Belushi. He played Elwood, and the Harmonica. I recommend their cover of “Expressway to your heart”, it shows off Ackroyd’s lower range.

[8] _Lady Sings the Blues_ is the name of Billie Holiday’s autobiography and later a biopic based on that work.

[9]“If the Love Ain’t There” is another Jazz standard covered by Natalie Cole.

[10]According to the classification system I’ve found detailed class III specters resemble people but don’t have any real memory of their past life and identity so they kinda hang out and do stuff but it’s not like they’re seeking revenge or something. So scary, accidently dangerous, but not necessarily hurting people on purpose.

[11]So, class I ghosts aren’t really ghosts, they’re like lights, creepy noises, cold spots and bad feelings. Class II are vague shapes and mists and stuff, they don’t particularly interact with the mortal plane. Class III are human shapes without memory of who they are. Class IV remember who they are and typically to get rid of them you need to figure out what they want – why they’re sticking around. Class V aren’t necessarily humanoid, but typically what you get when summoning and conjuring demons. “Slimer” was a byproduct of the rituals conducted in the Sedgewick basement, the hotel being another product of Shandor’s architecture. Class VI are non-human spooks and specters – like demon pigs. Class VII are demigods and shit like that.


	9. VIII

_My sincere thanks to everyone who has read, liked, and reviewed this work. It means the world to my and your comments never cease to brighten my day and enliven my pen. I have tried to respond to everyone either in a comment or by fixing/incoporating ideas and changes into subsequent chapters. Comments, ideas, and criticism always welcome. Thank you all again for bearing with me in this fic._

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

**Warning: This chapter contains some NSFW material.**

* * *

 

**VIII**  

Even though it was well after eight o’clock on her ninth straight day of work without a break Janine could not bring herself to leave yet. Not while the doctors were still out on a bust. Especially when they were out on a Class V+ bust. She’d only worked for them for a few months but she was fond of them – yes, even Pete Venkman. She also worried about them – she’d been working nine days straight, and so had they, and their hours were shittier than hers.

She was scrubbing the laminate off the counter when she heard the garage door open. Janine was nottheir maid, but she found cleaning to be the sort of mindless distraction she needed while they were out and despite being outstanding in their respective fields the Ghostbusters couldn’t clean for shit. The kitchen was a biohazard. Drying her hands on a paper towel, Janine hurried downstairs. The sooner she was assured the guys were safe the sooner she could go home.

The Ghostbusters were not alright.

The auburn-haired secretary didn’t know where to look first. Peter Venkman was delicately getting out of the driver’s seat, he was covered in God knows what, but it looked like snot. His hair was matted down, and his coveralls looked soaking wet. Compared to his colleagues, however, he was in good shape. Dr. Spengler gingerly got out of the back seat of the Ecto-1, relying heavily on Ray. His coveralls were torn up and he did not appear able to put weight on his left leg at all. Without thinking Janine skipped the last step and hurried toward the car.

“Oh, my GAWD!” Ray turned around. “Holy shit!” The engineer’s face was covered in blood, most of it dry. It was hard to tell exactly where he was bleeding from, but it looked like his nose, his cheek, his temple, and maybe his lip. His left eye was purple and swollen.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Poltergeist.” Venkman growled, fishing a trap out of the hearse.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

“’m fine, Neene, just bluddy.” Ray slurred.

“A preliminary examination leads me to believe that he’s not concussed, and while bloodied dramatically the lacerations will not require stitches.” Spengler announced, hissing in pain as he tried to put weight on his leg. “I’ll just get the first aid kit and clean him up, it’ll be fine.”

“The hell you will!” Janine flew to the Physicist’s side and wrapped her arm around his back to help prop him up. “You can’t even stand!”

“Janine,” Venkman started to say something.

“You got any injuries you’re being stubborn about Venkman?” Spengler was barely putting any weight on her, making it impossible to get him to her desk chair to sit, and she was over it. _Stupid, stupid stubborn men!_ The psychiatrist stared at her and shut his mouth.

“Other than the mucus, no.”

“Great. Then empty the trap and go take a shower.” Janine ordered, taking charge of the evening. Her concern for Ray and Egon overriding any attempt to maintain a polite, deferential tone.

“Yes, Mistress.” Venkman sassed, but ultimately complied.

“Dr. Stantz, would you help me get Dr. Spengler into a chair?” The Physicist was more willing to lean on his friend than her, so Janine left the men to it, ducking out from under his arm.

She was shaking, Janine noted idly, fishing a bag of lima beans and a bag of corn out of the freezer. The vegetables and first aid kit in hand Janine returned to the garage bay. The lighting wasn’t the best for doctoring, and it was hardly sterile, but there were stairs on stairs on stairs to get up to the living quarters and there was no way the men were fit to haul their asses up three flights at that moment.  Spengler sat in her chair, his leg up on the desk, beside where Ray was sitting.

“I can take care of Ray if you’d like to head home, Ms. Melnitz.” A way of annoyance briefly eclipsed Janine’s tender feelings for the tall doctor. 

“You’ll keep your leg elevated and iced is what you’ll do, Dr. Spengler!” Janine informed him briskly, dropping a bag of frozen vegetables in his lap.

“Eeg, I don’t think yer gunna win.” Ray’s face looked worse when he tried to smile.

“Dr. Stantz is right.”

“It’s getting late.” Spengler protested. Janine rolled her eyes. She’d lived in the city her entire life, she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Janine carefully dabbed the blood from her boss’ face, starting at his hair line. His hair had grown out slightly from when she’d first met him, meaning it lay down more than stuck up like bristles. He had a small cut in his hairline and Janine gently pushed the brown locks back. Aside from the blood his hair felt soft and smelled faintly like Herbal Essence. He hissed as she dabbed at the cut, his eyes widening in pain. They were nice eyes, she had observed that before – they smiled and danced – but seeing them up close confirmed it. Ray Stantz had lovely eyes. His brows were thick and dark but not unruly and he lacked the vanguard of a unibrow that some men had. His lashes were neither thick nor full, but they were long and dark. At a distance, at a glance it was easy to think both were brown, but at inches away she was reminded that while his right eye was a warm chestnut color his left eye was in fact sage green.

“You have lovely eyes, Dr. Stantz.” She commented off handedly once she realized she’d been staring into them for several moments. He blinked and shook himself slightly. Janine gently placed a hand on his chin, tilting his rectangular face so she could see better the cut on his cheekbone. His squared jaw was slightly rough, denoting the time of night. His cheekbones were not alpine, or striking but they gave his face a solid, handsome shape, the cut across his left cheek extended from the part of his cheekbone near his ear down toward his lips. His lips. They were thin, and his mouth was neither overly large nor too small. It was strange to not see him smiling, however.  He was rather average looking, she thought, until he smiled. His smile could light an entire borough.

“ _Heterochromia iridum_.” Spengler blurted beside them.[1]

“heh?”

“Ray has complete _heterochromia_ of the eye; his left eye is _hypoplastic_.” Janine looked from Ray to Spengler, then back to Ray, her hand still cupping his jaw.

“My eyes are different colors, _heterochromia iridum_ and _hypoplasia_ are the technical terms for it.”[2]He shrugged.

“Interesting.” She didn’t know what else to say to such information. “You look like you went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson.”

**~**

Disinfected Peter returned to the main floor of the Firehouse. It felt good to be clean. This was now the second time he’d been “slimed” and it gave him the heebie-jeebies. He also didn’t fully trust Ray and Egon when they assured him the stuff wasn’t dangerous. In the garage bay he found his friends and their secretary. Egon was sitting at the desk, his left leg up, bag of corn on his torqued knee. He was visibly glowering.

Sitting on the desk by his foot was Ray, and standing between Stantz’s knees was Janine, the petite woman was finally eye to eye with one of them. She had a firm grip on Ray’s face with her left hand as she attacked his wounds with a cloth, clucking at him like a mother hen as she cleaned him up. 

Peter was much too cynical to admit it, but there was something touching about Janine Melnitz. She never left when they were on a call, never abandoned them, always said good-bye when she left. And now she was expressing sincere concern for their wellbeing, even if it was in a bossy, brassy sort of way.

“So, what exactly happened to you again?”

“Poltergeist.” Venkman announced himself. Janine and Ray both spared him a look. Egon did not.

“It was not particularly interested in leaving either and being incorporeal it was a hard fucker to find.” Ray complained – and rightly so. While Peter had been on the receiving end of what felt like an otherworldly prank, Ray had literally fought the thing. It had been crazy watching him take invisible punches and frustratingly difficult to help trap the thing. Thank God Egon had tossed some flour over it eventually or they’d still be chasing the wind.

“Are poltergeists usually this violent?”

“Violence varies,” Ray pronounced, “but they are strong enough to manipulate the mortal plane – usually moving things around, they’ve historically been called “noisy spirits”. People often assume they’re bratty kids seeking attention but denying the consequences – blaming a ghost - but this one was very real.”

“No shit.”

The phone rang. Satisfied that Ray’s face couldn’t be helped further, Janine reached across Egon’s leg for the handset.

“Ghostbusters.” Peter felt a groan rip from him, another job? They just got home!

“I’m afraid the earliest anyone could get to you is Thursday. … yes, I know that’s in two days. Unless you have a Class V, VI, or VII specter you can’t just skip the queue. … I know and I’m sorry, but it’s policy. … I’ll tell them to hurry. Is there anyone you can stay with in the meantime? We’ll be in touch as soon as we can. Bye.” Janine hung up.

“What the hell are you doing?” They didn’t have any busts left, certainly nothing that would push their schedule a few days.

“You need rest.” She declared, bluntly. “Wounds won’t heal if you keep aggravating them. You especially,” she turned to Egon, “need to be careful.”

“It’s just a grade I sprain.” The physicist protested.

“If you overwork it you’ll make it a grade II.” She had a point. Furthermore, the firehouse was not exactly accessible or limp friendly, it had multiple floors and all staircases - just going to bed was going to be stressful.

“I will not further exacerbate my MCL.” Egon replied defiantly.

“Can’t you just take care of yourself for a day?” There was something in her voice that was raw and honest. Peter had to mock it, lest they share a real emotional moment.

“Red, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Can it Venkman.” She snapped, handing Ray a bag of frozen vegetables. It wasn’t a steak for a black eye, but it was probably more sanitary.

“When was the last time you all slept properly?”

“I think you’re going a little overboard.” Peter replied. She was rapidly turning into their mother.

“Ray, look me in the eye and tell me you’re getting eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.” Ray was many things, but he was a shit liar and Janine clearly knew it.

“Alright, secretary’s orders.” Janine announced, packing up the first aid kit. “Rest for all of you – no busting until at least Thursday. You,” she pointed at Ray, “keep those cuts clean and ice your face again tomorrow. You,” she pointed at Egon, “keep off your feet for a while. Ice and elevation, Grade I or not. You,” She pointed at Peter, “keep them in line until I get back tomorrow.” And with that she swept out of the room to put the kit away and toss the bloody rag in the wash. Peter and Ray exchanged looks as Egon watched the determined woman march up the stairs.

“Well then,”

“She sure told us.”

**X**

Their brief reprieve from busting ultimately backfired as calls kept coming in. After two days Ray’s face was reasonably healed – burses fading from violently violet to lavender. It was decided Egon wouldn’t go back in the field until the next week, and then only if he wore a knee brace.

“What is this?” Egon looked from the black roll of elastic in his hand to the petite woman who had given it to him. His knee was less swollen than it had been immediately after facing off with the poltergeist. The noisy spirit had thrown a table at him and he’d hit the ground directly on his left knee. He’d felt the pop then and gone cross-eyed but gotten up immediately, adrenaline letting him walk just fine until after the thing was trapped. Then he couldn’t support his own weight. Ray, blood dripping down his face had half carried him to the car. It had been a rough night. It was shaping up to be a rough week.

“It’s a compression wrap, I got it a while ago when I sprained my ankle. I thought it might help your knee.” She wasn’t wrong. Although as a coroner he’d only worked with dead people his understanding of anatomy was such he knew a compression wrap or brace would be critical in supporting the knee and not tearing the ligament further.

“Thank you, Ms. Melnitz, that was very kind of you.”

“Need help wrapping it?” She asked, dropping to her knees in the middle of the lab, her hands going for the hem of his pant leg. She was so focused on his injury she clearly was not thinking about what she was doing or how it might look. Egon, however, was very aware. His hind brain had kicked on, his base urges loud and clear about what the sight of Janine Melnitz on her knees at his feet looked like.

He was going to need compression, but not for his knee.

“Uhhh, Ms. Melnitz.” He couldn’t quite reach her shoulder, so he tapped the back of her head for attention. _Not helping_. She looked up at him, the Rayleigh scattering and moderate amount of melanin in the iris’ anterior border layer quite striking.[3]As were her marsala colored lips, the lower rather full while the upper arched into what one might call a cupid’s bow.

“I can wrap my own knee, thank you.” How the hell he formed a coherent sentence he did not know because all his blood was rapidly abandoning his brain.

“Oh.” She said, awkwardly getting off the floor, her cheeks flushing.

The phone rang as she opened her mouth to speak and she disappeared up the stairs. Egon collapsed onto his chair, his knees weak for a different reason.

**~**

Janine avoided Dr. Spengler quite effectively the rest of the week. She was utterly mortified. What had started as only zealous concern had ended entirely inappropriate for another reason. _What he must think of you_. She spent the next four days waiting to be fired for impropriety and propositioning her employer. They could also reprimand her for unilaterally putting them on rest and shifting their schedule.

And yet neither of these things happened.

If anything, her aggressive mothering had endeared her to at least some of them. Spengler would likely never look at her again, but she and Ray had bonded. After a few days passed and the boom had not been lowered she was able to think back on what had happened with some humor. Of course, she went too hard and scared the poor man away – that was exactly her luck. And, of course, despite this her crush was still going strong. If anything, she fertilized it. A week after the incident and after a particularly grueling shift which lasted well beyond her contracted 10am-8pm hours, she found herself exhausted in bed and unable to sleep.

The image of looking up at him came to her mind uninvited and she felt a different sort of heat spread through her – not embarrassed and ashamed but warm and lusty. Alone in her bed she wore an oversized NYPD tee shirt and underwear, dressing for the weather more than anything else, however, as she ran her hands over her body she realized she didn’t need sumptuous fabrics against her breasts or under her palms to make her ready. All she needed was her imagination and the striking view seared into her mind’s eye from last week.

_On her knees Janine could see the way his slacks draped across more than just his ass. From the close angle she could see the way the fabric became strained. Gently she massaged him through his trousers, feeling the harness there. She felt like purring as the stoic scientist hissed a breath of pleasure_ (Janine explored her body lower, starting with small circles and light pressure working toward her mons). _Freeing him from his trousers and briefs she moaned herself Big thumbs never lied._

_She started by stroking him gently. Her touch becoming firmer as he produced some precum to glide her way._ (Janine, finding herself wet already, began to stroke her labia and tease her entrance). _With his consent – his plea, really – she took him in her mouth. Slowly, gently, she worked her lips down his shaft, his length – until he was at the back of her throat. His hands fluttered about her, stroking her hair, balling in fists at his sides, touching her face. Her hands were confident and sure, one at the base of his cock, the other drawing a reassuring tattoo on his inner thigh. She found a rhythm that suited them both – rubbing the flat of her tongue on him then hollowing her cheeks as she sucked softly._ (Janine rolled her clitoris between her fingers and threw her head back at the sensation. The first firm touch to the pleasure point always did fantastic things to her. Then she settled into a furious rhythm of fast, tight circles, with her other hand she sunk two fingers into her center).

_Egon cursed softly above her, and his hips bucked involuntarily as she drug her nails up his thigh before cupping his balls gently._ (She worked herself up into a frenzy with direct clitoral stimulation and her imagination until she came hard, contracting around the fingers in her channel and soaking that hand with her pleasure). _Unlike other guys who humped her throat and came without warning Egon tugged her hair, giving her fair time to pull back. He came across his stomach and her fingers, moaning as she pumped and cupped him, feeling his balls straining under her fingers._ Janine eventually got up and washed her hands, and feeling more relaxed, she was able to fall asleep not long after.

**X**

“Ghostbusters.” Janine answered the phone Saturday afternoon. She wasn’t supposed to work Saturdays, but Ray had begged her. They were swamped. And Janine was finding it difficult to turn down Ray when he flashed his smile and puppy dog eyes, “hydro-cinema” and all.

“J-Bird, what are you doing at work?! I’ve been trying to reach you all day!” On the other end was Noelle, sounding annoyed but not haunted.

“Elle, what are you calling here for?” Janine asked quietly, glancing around the garage bay. Doctors Stantz and Spengler were out on a roaster of busts. Venkman had retired to his office behind her and she’d been listening to his snores for the last fifteen minutes as she did invoices.

“Let’s see: you missed last night,” She hadn’t meant to miss Friday jazz, but it had been Friday the 13th– the phones hadn’t stopped all night. “Which is fine but then when I called to check on you this morning you didn’t pick up!” Janine had slept at home, but only just. She’d gotten back to her apartment at three a.m. (taking the taxi Ray paid for without complaint). By nine a.m. she was back at her desk.

“Then I got a call from your mother!” Noelle continued.

“What?” She’d called her mother Monday… hadn’t she? She always called her Mom on Mondays.

“Yeah! Mama Melnitz and I had a lovely chat – you know how much I love Ruth – she hasn’t heard from you in weeks, J-Bird. She’s worried.”  Janine rubbed her temple and counted back a second time when she’d last called her mother.

“I’m worried.” Noelle continued as the garage door opened, Egon and Ray returning from their morning shift. They had made more of their traps but still came back regularly to empty them, fearing that much PKE concentrated in one space for prolonged periods without proper infrastructure.

“Noelle, I’m fine. Work has been crazy and I’m putting in some serious hours but I’m otherwise fine. I promise. I’ll call Mom tonight and we’ll do brunch…soon…maybe?”

“Okay, J, but seriously, Michael will be kicking dicks in if you don’t get a break soon.”

“Elle, I swear, it’s fine. I gotta do work. I love you.” She hung up before Noelle could say anything more.

“We got those Class III taken care of.” Ray announced, his arms loaded with five smoking traps. She’d never quite get used to their metallic-sulfuric scent, but she’d stopped gagging for the most part.

“Taking personal calls on company time, Melnitz?” Venkman gloated behind her. He’d woken up enough to eavesdrop.

“I could be taking naps.” She muttered under her breath. Dr. Spengler gave her a knowing smirk as he handed over the accumulated recipes. Amazingly, despite the frequent explosions coming from the basement his hearing wasn’t totally shot.

“I haven’t had a day off in seventeen days, my friends and family were worried I was chained to a radiator in the basement.”

“If you’re unsatisfied with this job we could-”

“No. There’s no way you would be able to replace me. For one, no other secretary would take this gig if they knew the hours.” She cut off the worn-out threat.

“Maybe we should hire some more help.” Ray, who hated conflict, suggested, hoping to shift the conversation,

“It wouldn’t hurt to have more people. We could work shifts rather than trying to do 24-hours ourselves.”

“Another hire would allow us two, two-person teams who could then be on call for twelve hours only.” Egon observed. “if we also hired another assistant to handle the phones overnight we’d have greater efficiency.”

“Where are we going to get that kind of bread?” Spengler reached inside his coveralls for his calculator.

“If we continue at the rate we’ve been at the last two weeks, and I have reason to believe we will, looking at this morning’s PKE readings, we will have paid off the loan on this building and one of Ray’s three mortgages in the next…. Three weeks. That money could then be put toward hiring more help.” _Three mortgages?!_ Janine barely heard the rest of what the doctor was saying.[4]

“Something needs to be done.” Ray announced with a firm nod. “We hired Janine for one, not kidnapped her. Why don’t you head home now, Janine, and not come back until you’re supposed to on Monday?”

“I won’t say no to some time off.” She would not. That morning she’d discovered she was down to her last clean pair of panties. She needed laundry and cat food, quick. “You all should consider taking a day off as well.” Janine had never considered herself all that maternal before, but these geniuses just brought something out in her. Maybe it was because they could be such a _dumkopf. **[5]**_

“We’re just fine, Mommy Dearest.”[6]Venkman sassed.

“I could hear you snoring at your desk.” Beside her, Dr. Spengler continued to smirk. She wasn’t going to call him out, but she’d found him asleep reading on the sofa upstairs or passed out over his work bench several times of late. Rather than wake him she was the one who removed his skewed spectacles, marked his page, and draped a blanket over him. She’d even contemplated taking his shoes off a few times but that was too intimate. Since the ace bandage incident, she’d tried to set hard boundaries regarding her _boss_. Removing clothing was a hard no. How he could sleep in shoes and a tie she did not know, but she wasn’t going to do anything about it.

“And Dr. Stantz has had so much coffee and cigarettes he’s practically vibrating.”

“Hey!” The engineer said indignantly, and then guiltily lowered his lighter, clicking off the flame.

“Now that you mention it.” Spengler looked at his colleague and pulled out his PKE meter, taking a scan, “You are showing more PK energy than usual. I saw it had spiked yesterday when you returned from the archive but thought that I needed to recalibrate the meter. But you’re still hot, energetically speaking.”

“Eeg, I’ve been handling traps and wraiths all morning. I suspect we’re all a little hot from contact.”

“Still, I think this caffeine and nicotine thesis is worth exploring. We should-”

“-experiment.”[7]The engineer and physicist said at the same time. Venkman loudly rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be in my office.”

“Oh, just go take a nap!”

* * *

 

[1]Egon is basically a cat. He pretends he doesn’t want your attention but if you ignore him he’s going to knock something off the table. [This tumblr post](http://the-musical-cc.tumblr.com/post/173781610519/dominoinla-drarryismymuse) illustrates it well. Also, do yourself a favor, picture Egon Spengler gently headbutting Janine as a sign/request for affection. Also also, him just sitting between her and the keyboard because she’s ignoring him, much like my cat, Abelard is doing now.

[2]Indeed, having two different colored eyes is a genetic mutation, frequently accompanied by other conditions or symptoms. Ackroyd does, in fact, have two different colored eyes, though it is usually not easy to tell in pictures unless you’re looking for it. I spent a lot of time on Wikipedia trying to figure out the science-y way of talking about the fact he has one brown and one green eye. I’m still not sure if I got it right.

[3]Hazel eyes, Egon, just say she has pretty hazel eyes.

[4]I have no idea how their financial system looked in canon but I’m going to pretend like it worked out in the end. I definitely have a headcannon in which Ghostbusters pricing is half set and half operating on a moral economy. In this way the corporate rate is actually higher than what an average person with a ghost pays.

[5]Yiddish, also German for dumb head (literally dum = dumb, kopf = head) – or idiot.

[6]Book and later film written by Christina Crawford, Joan Crawford’s adoptive daughter in 1978 in which she revealed the abuse she suffered at the Star’s hand, including being beaten with a wire hanger. Mommie Dearest was what Christina and her sibling were supposed to refer to their mother as.  _NO MORE WIRE HANGERS EVER!_

[7]So in Ghostbusters II I always thought it really shitty that Egon’s experiments were basically fucking with people who needed marriage counseling and dangling a puppy in front of little girls before taking it away to inspire an emotional reaction. So, consider this a spoiler/foreshadowing what his experiments will be in my version of GBII. It’s gotta be easier to get an IRB for monitoring the impact of alcohol, caffeine, and nicotine on psycho-kinetic energy than lying about marriage counseling and messing with the thermostat. Violet Ramis was adorable in that scene though.


	10. IX

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

My sincere thanks to all of you who continue to read this, comment and leave kudos. My days are always brightened knowing ya'll are enjoying this. 

* * *

 

** IX **

The subway was screeching. The subway always screeched. Dana had learned to not acknowledge it. She had also learned how to ignore her fellow passengers.[1]After years in the city she had learned its ways. No eye contact; no small talk; walk on the right, stand on the left. Beside her a little boy tugged at his mother’s skirt.

“Mama, why’s it screaming?”

“That’s the sound of the wheels on the track.” She said in a soothing voice, carding her hand through his blonde hair.

Once upon a time that would have been the answer Dana would have given. Now she wasn’t so sure. Now there was little she was sure of. Especially when it came to shrieks, screeching, screaming, eyes watching her in the dark. It had been months since her refrigerator fright and ever since she felt like she was living _Gaslight_.[2]Except Dr. Venkman didn’t find anything. At the time she hadn’t wondered if it wasn’t all a fraud – the entire “Ghostbusters” thing to asinine to be real. Then she heard about the Sedgwick and she saw the newspapers. The Ghostbusters could catch Ghosts when there were ghosts to catch. Her apartment wasn’t haunted – she was. Her grip on reality had crossed over.

Dana took a deep, calming breath to stop her swirling thoughts and chocked. The car was humid and reeked of sweat and bodies. The summer heat made it thick enough to roll on the pallet. It was the only thing she had to chew on since her morning muesli.[3]Louis had been particularly hard to shake, holding the elevator door open for five minutes because he saw her approach from across the street. He was planning a party and wanted her opinion on absolutely every detail.  The entire elevator ride he’d pontificated on oysters versus caviar. Louis had managed to block her from her own door just _talking_ until she’d summoned every year she’d spent in the city and rudely brushed past him and shut the door in this face.

She’d had had enough time to drop her cello off, go to the bathroom, apply fresh deodorant and lipstick, and then grab her work tote before rushing out the door again and to the train. Thank God for the clusterfuck the trains had been the last two weeks. Their consistent lateness was the only way she would have caught a car.

The car was only half full and she was grateful for a seat. She was in the middle of restoring a Bierstadt, which had her up a ladder most of her shift.[4]Amelia had raved about how killer her calves looked recently, but the steps were murder on her feet. She wondered why she even kept her job as an art restorer. The orchestra paid well and with Aunt Margery’s lease her rent was at 1920s rates. It was a lot of hustle to go from individual practice early in the morning, to rehearsal with the full orchestra, to running home to turn around and go to Bowling Green, to run back to make evening rehearsal and ensemble practice. Other than aerobics twice a week and the occasional wine or whiskey with Andre, Aiden, and Amelia she worked.

Dana watched as the other and little boy alighted the car, the young woman carrying her child on the hip as she navigated the crowd. _When I come home from work at night I go home to nothing, all I have is my job and I look around this apartment, I see you and I think to myself “my God, here’s someone with the same problem I have”_ Dr. Venkman’s voice came to her, unbid, as the train began moving again. He had quite the habit of appearing in her thoughts when he shouldn’t. She had thought of him as Louis monologued, drawing comparison between the two men without realizing she’d been doing it. In the time she’d known Louis he’d never asked about her job – aside from tax related questions. Yes, the cello case was distinctive and self-explanatory, but still. She’d never discussed her interiority with her neighbor, not even a little. Whereas with Venkman, that was all he wanted to hear about – her background, her interests, her work and hobbies. Yes, he’d tried to use it to his advantage at times, but there were moments in their first meeting when he had been sincerely attentive. He’d listened.

Dana shook herself. Enough of that. She was acting as mopey as the lion in the Bronx Zoo. For the rest of the train ride she focused on other things – like if she could get a snack somewhere before work. Art restoration hangry was hazardous to canvases.

Outside the Subway Dana found a food cart and in two minutes had bought a hot dog with the works and devoured it in three bites, earning herself some raised eyebrows from passing businessmen. Finally fed, Dana rounded the Manhattan Museum of Art and Antiquity, eschewing the grand front entrance for a side door requiring keycard access. After the extreme seasonal heat of late summer, the office and archives of the museum were almost unbearably cold. She shivered as she walked down the hall and dug in her large purse for the light cardigan she kept in its depths. The Museum was grand in the way only turn of the century buildings could be, the offices were only a step more personable than a hospital for the most part. The renovations of the 1960s had not been kind to most of the original features.

Realistically Dana could have paused and chewed her hot dog, Judith was a kind woman and a decent boss. She was empathetic to the mess the subway lines were currently. Moreover, she was also in hot pursuit of Leo Pellerito.[5]The dark-haired exhibition instillation technician taking all of her attention as Dana arrived. She didn’t have the heart to tell her colleague that no matter how much leg she showed sitting on top of her desk in a mini skirt, Leo would never be interested. 

“Hi Dana!” Leo greeted her brightly. He really was a sweet guy, a touch of Boston in his voice due to a childhood in Stoneham. The lack of Rs in his words reminded her of home.

“Oh, you’re here.” She had been noticed.

“I am, no thanks to the 7thAvenue line.”[6]

“We were just discussing this morning’s announcement. Dr. Chase will be retiring at the end of this year.” Ronald Chase was the head of the Restoration department, Judith’s mentor and direct supervisor.

“Any word on a replacement?” Chase was a nice man but was nigh seventy and looked significantly older.

“Nothing on the rumor mill yet,” Leo shrugged. “I had no idea he was even thinking of retiring until this morning.”

“The instillations department is so isolated. Maybe you should spend more time over here with us.” Judith batted her eyelashes as Dana rolled her eyes.

“I actually need to be over in Egyptology. Dr. Martin is overseeing the new exhibition and you know how she can be.[7]I better go make sure the interns haven’t fucked anything up. I’ll see you later.”

“I hate to see him leave but I love to watch him go.” Judith murmured, watching the man leave with a predatory gleam.

“One of these days you’re going to get in trouble, he’s a person not a slab of beef.”

“Still tasty.” She shrugged. “Ready for more quality time in the Hudson River school?”

The afternoon passed quickly, Top 40 counterpoint to the mid-19th century landscape, occasionally punctuated with Judith’s play-by-play of her latest attempt to gain Leo’s attention.

“Do you think he checked out my legs?”

“Probably? They look nice.”

“Isn’t Dr. Martin so demanding and difficult?”

“She’s also a world-renowned Egyptologist, I think it goes with the territory.”

“Leo gets so tan in the summers, he says it’s from drinking on patios – I love dining _al fresco_.”

“It must be nice to tan, I just burn.”

Judith really was a highly qualified art restorer and archivist. She was well respected in the field and extremely competent and confident – if you talked to her about art. Chase had made her his protégée because of these skills, if anyone should be made the Head of the Department it should be Judith. In addition to all of this Judith was perpetually boy crazy. Her professional success vastly out shown any personal life she might have. Judith was also one of those people who did not like being single, not even for a second, which was something Dana never understood.

After work Dana was back on the train, this time bound for the Upper East Side and a new bar Aiden wanted to try. Tequila Mockingbird was full on a Friday evening after work but not over crowded, it only took Dana a moment to locate her friends, seated at a round booth in the corner, near the one TV not showing the Yankees - Twins game. Dana greeted Andre, Aiden, and Amelia with half hugs and cheek kisses before asking if it was bar only or table service.

“Table, ostensibly, but it’s dreadfully slow.” Andre warned, swirling a glass of red wine in an unimpressed manner.

Dana ordered herself a Mint Julip from the bar. Aiden and Amelia were a longtime couple, Amelia was first chair Bassoon and Aiden was the Orchestra’s music librarian. Because of their relationship, and of course the semi-regular sexual intercourse between herself and Andre, it was basically like double dating. Except Dana never really thought of the violinist as her partner. He never referred to her as his girlfriend, except one time when he’d introduced her at a donor’s party as his date (she’d been left to awkwardly explain she was also a cellist in the Symphony).

A strong Julip in hand Dana settled back in the booth. The bar was nice with original wood, exposed brick and a gorgeous tin ceiling. It was also relatively quiet, the occasional baseball reaction aside and _A Love Supreme_ playing in the background. Conversation was easy to have, which was important. Judith had drug her to a bar last Friday and she’d lost her voice screaming to order an overpriced drink with a suggestive name.[8]

Dana observed the bar, only half listening to the argument Andre had started with a haughty attack on Coltrane’s unnecessarily complicated album. Aiden, a sometimes-jazz pianist with a quintet every other Friday would not allow such slander to stand.[9]Dana, while one of the unconverted, still could not take Andre’s critique seriously when he accused Jazz (the entire genre!) of resting on its laurels – rich coming from a classical violinist. Rather than enter the fray Dana contented herself with the bar. The handsome bartender, the successful dates, the unsuccessful dates, the closed captioning on the one not Baseball TV.

Dana sat up slightly. Being interviewed was one of the Ghostbusters. Not Venkman, but a colleague – Spengler! There was no sound, so she couldn’t hear his deep voice but the white letters over black bars reported his words. It was obviously toward the end of the interview, given the question the host asked: Could the “proton packs” do anything to Superman? Spengler adjusted in his seat, thoughtfully, giving this question about his work as much consideration as the more formal ones about the existence of ghosts or the technology he had patented. He was not wearing the lab coat like when she had first met him, nor the grey jumpsuit cameras had captured them all wearing during their “busts”, but rather a suit and a nice tie embroidered with an Edwardian pattern of vines.

SPENGLER: ON EARTH? NO. BUT ON KRYPTON WE COULD SLICE HIM UP LIKE BOLOGNA.

GRIMSBY: THANK YOU DR. SPENGLER. THAT WAS EGON SPENGLER, ONE OF THE “GHOSTBUSTERS”, A GROUP OF PARANORMAL INVESTIGATORS WHO HAVE INSPIRED BOTH CONTROVERSY AS WELL AS A FLOOD OF HITHERTO UNDISCUSSED SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS.

“Ghosts, seriously? What has journalism stooped to. There is no such thing.” Andre sipped his wine authoritatively.

“You don’t believe in ghosts?”

“You do?” His expression spoke volumes – mainly that he was rapidly losing respect for her. Even Aiden and Amelia were skeptical. _Backpedal. Backpedal._

“I live alone. There are bumps in the night and at 3am a Ghost seems about right.” Amelia and Aiden laughed, even Andre chuckled before returning to the rant at hand.

“That’s different. You don’t support these idiots taking advantage of the foolish.” Dana sunk a little in booth. The Ghostbusters were currently researching “Zuul” for her still for like $20 an hour. Also, he might be many things, but Dana was confident in saying Egon Spengler was not stupid. Furthermore, he’d been very nice as he’d… wired her into a metal colander to read her brainwaves…Yeah, she was definitely without a grip on reality.

Dana made it back to her apartment without running into Louis, mercifully. Drinks had been awkward the rest of the evening, even after conversation had drifted from ghosts and Ghostbusters. Feeling foolish Dana nonetheless tiptoed across her kitchen to the refrigerator. It was humming rather than chanting. Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door.

Nothing.

Noting but a yellow glow over a half gallon of milk and some eggs. She slept at home now but was still leery of storing much food in the fridge. She didn’t know why – did she expect it to get possessed? Destroyed? Was she afraid she was feeding those hellhound-looking things? In whatever case, she wasn’t really eating anything that required refrigeration. Satisfied her fridge was not out to get her Dana performed her nightly ablutions and went to bed.

**X**

“The stained glass is a nice touch.” Ray observed, nodding toward the rose shaped window. It was late at night and pitch black out or else it would have cast brilliant ribbons of blues and purples over the antique wood floors and exposed brick of the restaurant.

“The duck comes highly recommended.” Peter agreed. The trapping of a malevolent Class IV semi-corporal entity at the landmark Carriage House restaurant was several days in the making.[10]The restaurant probably wouldn’t have called them at all, worried about what having a ghost would do to their reputation, if the spirit hadn’t pushed the pastry chef down the stairs. Clarissa Elwood was part of the Carriage House’s prestige and had shattered her hand in the fall. She was the one who had called the Ghostbusters. Then there was the research faze, trying to figure out who or what the entity was and what it wanted with the mortal plane. That had taken about a week in the archives.

The Carriage House was at one time an actual carriage house, belonging to the Beckwith family, some of the most famous New York Loyalists during the Revolution. Once the new government was established and the Beckwiths exiled themselves to England the estate and carriage house passed through several wealthy New York families, remaining a carriage house until it became a garage until it was restored to its older appearance and turned into a Michelin star restaurant. During the late eighteenth century, early nineteenth century the Miranda family owned the estate, according to Spengler’s research the most likely candidate for the ghost was the family’s youngest daughter, Theodosia Miranda. Theodosia died dramatically in 1813, committing suicide by self-immolation after murdering her eldest sister Angelica and her brother-in-law Thomas Atherton in a jealous rage. Theodosia had a reputation for jealousy even before attempting to seduce her brother-in-law, budging him until he was nearly unrecognizable with a pair of farrier’s nippers, pushing her sister down the stairs after she discovered the body (she died of a broken neck), and eventually dousing herself in the oil from the lamp when she was discovered and dying in a shrieking blaze. She had, when just a teenager, attempted to drown Euphrasie Richards in the East River for “stealing” the attention of a young man she fancied.[11]

Once they had identified who the Class IV specter was the next problem was arranging a time to remove her. The restaurant refused to let the Busters anywhere near the restaurant during business hours, which meant Peter and Ray had to wait until Sunday night after dinner to work. The Carriage House had also demanded assurance that the original, stately details of the place would not be damaged in anyway. Although through repeated usage they had vastly improved their aim the Ghostbusters had limited confidence in such a guarantee.

In exchange for such accommodations Peter had demanded free three course dinners, complete with all alcohol for each of the Ghostbusters, good for up to one year after the bust. Chef Elwood had personally come through with that end of the bargain, the leverage of an award-winning chef was handy in negotiations. They had also gotten the keys to the Restaurant, so they could bust the ghost without someone in the way of the proceedings, when the manager returned with the check the next morning they’d get the keys back.

“According to Spengler’s notes the entity is seen either on the stairs or by the bar.” Ray said, beginning to move the tables away from the large, polished oak bar. In the car they had strategized a stationary trap and luring/ corralling the ghost to the box, hopefully minimizing damages by moving obstacles ahead of time.

“Reports say that it does NOT like women – She was an incredibly jealous woman in life and that has only grown in death.”

“I left the wig in the car Francine.” Peter quipped.

“Fire is also an important part of the recent sightings, if the person isn’t standing on the stairs.”

“How does any of this help us?”

“I’m thinking out loud, we could light some candles and see if that helps, maybe near the stairs. Or we wait and see if Theodosia comes and investigates.” Ray shrugged.

“Fuck that, I’m having a drink.” Peter headed behind the bar.

“Pace yourself, this place strikes me as the type that knows how full its bottles are.” Venkman waved him off and set up two rocks glasses.

“Ever been here before?”

“Pressed my nose against the windows a few times, wistfully but we’ve never made the kind of money necessary to actually eat here.”

“Correction,” Peter poured a thick three fingers of top shelf bourbon into each glass. “Columbia didn’t pay us enough to eat here. According to Spegs we’re getting in the black on our loans and since we’re getting great press lately I think you’ll find our fortunes have changed. Cheers.” Pete handed Ray a glass and then clinked rims.

“If we branch out some we might even become downright rich! Think of the branding and marketing opportunities – Official Ghostbusters flashlights and walkie talkies. If we had our own cartoon the possibilities are endless!” Ray recognized the scheming gleam in his friend’s eyes.

“A cartoon?”

“Yeah! Saturday morning! “The Adventures of the Ghostbusters” or something – we’d get action figures, a theme song, Lorenzo Music doing the voice work, etc. etc.”[12]Ray rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t we focus on the real Ghostbusting for a moment, Pete, we’ve got a full schedule until at least Thursday and three more TV interviews, plus research on several Class IV and V cases.”

“You were the one worried about losing your parents’ house. I’m just diversifying our portfolio.” Peter guilted, examining himself in the mirror behind the bar. “You’d make a good cartoon character.” He looked up at Ray. Uncertain if that was a dig or not Ray chose to ignore it and instead wondered the room.

“This really is a gorgeous place. I can see why it’s voted New York’s most romantic restaurant.”

“Which is why I negotiated for meals instead of our usual storage fee. I was thinking of bringing Ms. Barrett here to discuss her case.” Ray shot him a skeptical look over his drink, “by the way, where are we on that?”

“Where are we on that?! Pete, you’re the one who went to the archives last!”

“Yeah, picked up a packet of stuff Egon requested and disappointed the cute blonde archivist who thought _you_ were the Ghostbuster coming for the copies.”

“You saw Cosette?” Ray blurted and then silently cursed himself. Peter gave him the eye.

“She tall and blonde? Ray, you sly thing.” He made no reply. Peter continued. “Yeah, she came bounding out of the office when her colleague said a Ghostbuster was there to pick up some files. Face fell like a lead balloon when she saw me. I almost took it personally. Now I get it.”

“Ms. Richards was a student of mine. She took my first ever Supernatural Studies lecture.”

“You either saved her GPA or she’s a little Van Halen.”

“Heh?”

“Hot for teacher.” Ray glared. Peter raised his hands, “I’m just saying.”

“Egon and I want to take a closer look at the blueprints of Ms. Barrett’s building.” Ray resolutely ignored Peter’s joke – on the outside. Inwardly he was conflicted. She had been his student! She was at least five to seven years younger than he was. She would not appreciate such advances. Cosette Richards was a warm and personable person, nothing more. She was also a professional and he would endeavor to treat her as such in the archives. He would _not_ entertain such suggestions like Peter was making. On the other hand, she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Unbid memories of her flooded him, the most vivid of which hitting him so strongly he could smell the rain.

 _It was the first warm rain of the spring. Although he had offered her his umbrella she had refused it, hanging her satchel across her body before zipping up her yellow rain jacket and following beside him in the heavy rain. Passionately she defended her point, paying absolutely no attention to the heavy rain beating down own them both. She fairly crackled with energy as she spoke, eyes sparkling, hands waving. It made the hair on his arms stand up like a lightning strike. She was mad – mad at him specifically – laying into his intimation that_ any  _preternatural being was dangerous and inhuman._

_Despite being soaked to the skin she managed to become even more striking than even when she was dry. She seemed taller, her eyes brighter, voice richer. She was absolutely magnetic. On the steps of Weaver, he’d asked her if she wanted to continue their discussion in his office. He had meant it with the utmost professionalism – they had often met in office hours and next to a downpour the basement was more comfortable._

_It was the first time the statement didn’t feel professional. The flush to her cheeks told him she felt it too – the current running between them. The palpable pull. He wanted to kiss her like he wanted his next breath._

_“Dr. Stantz…” She breathed. His title from her lips shocked him to his core and he recoiled. He had almost kissed her! His student! It was a violation of both teaching ethics and basic dignity._

_She looked so sad and he only felt worse – sick even. She left him for her next class on the steps of Weaver, soaked by rain, a hole in his gut and his heart, horrified with himself._

“So, her blueprints? That’s it? She’s paying us $20 an hour for that? What about the what’s it Spirit Guide?” Peter jerked him back to reality, before responding however the lights flickered.

“THAT BITCH!” An enraged female spirit manifested, charging toward him much faster than her early 19th century dress would have allowed her in real life. Her face was twisted with rage and she looked as if she was ready to rip Ray’s eyes out of his sockets.

Surprisingly, Peter was quick on the draw and cut her assault off with a stream of protons. No longer stunned Ray was able to add his own beam and together they got the shrieking apparition of Theodosia Miranda in the trap.

“She was even more annoyed that you haven’t been researching enough.” Peter joked as he picked up the smoking trap.

“Spengler noted consistent jealous tendencies since the eighteenth century. Perhaps she hates mentions of women as much as actual women.” Ray theorized. _Maybe she read his mind…_

“If that’s the case who was she jealous of? Dana Barrett or …Cosette?” Peter waggled his eyebrows.

“Just stop.”

“You know which of us should really use their free dinner?” Peter asked locking up.

“Who?”

“Egon.”

“With Janine as his date?”

“You’ve noticed it too?!” Peter was never wrong about sexual tension (it was a gift) but it was nice to have his observations confirmed.

“I’ve suspected. He gets this look on his face sometimes when he looks at her…”

“He was so jealous when she was giving you all that attention after that Poltergeist smashed your face in.” Ray rubbed his nose at the memory.

“He was?” Peter gave him a look.

“Oh yeah. The whole thing with your _heterochromia_? That’s Egon practically seething.”

“Huh.”

“Mark my words, Ray, Mark. My. Words.”

* * *

 

[1]gunmetalblxck, “New York City Gothic”, Tumblr.

[2]Gaslight is a film from 1944. One of the classic psychological thrillers.

[3]Muesli is the German word for cereal, which is occasionally used by English speakers – also for cereal.

[4]Albert Bierstadt, a mid-19th century landscape painter, part of the Hudson River School of art, a luminist, and a romantic. His paintings are striking for their dynamic use of light and in some cases their massive size. There’s one in the Smithsonian Gallery of Art in DC that’s floor to ceiling.

[5]Yes, Janine’s Leo. I’ve fancast him as a sort of Mario Cantone from the early 2000s. He is from the Boston area, hence the voice description.

[6]Having only been to New York City in my mind, I am not entirely sure if this is how one actually talks about the specific routes, but Wikipedia suggested it was.

[7]Dr. Layla Martin will eventually be a reoccurring character. Keep an eye on her.

[8]Like Gin & Titties instead of a regular G&T.

[9]One, fuck you Andre, Jazz is awesome. Two, Aiden plays with Noelle’s band.It’s a small world after all.

[10]The Carriage House is based on a real NYC restaurant, _One if By Land, Two if By Sea_ which is also reported to be haunted. One if By Land used to be the Carriage House of Aaron Burr and one of the several ghosts that apparently haunts it is his daughter Theodosia. Unlike Theodosia Miranda in this story however, Theodosia Burr died at Sea during the War of 1812. She is not a murderous woman – none of the reported entities are. Though apparently, one who remains by the bar likes stealing women’s earrings. One if By Land is consistently voted one of the most romantic restaurants in New York/the world.

[11]Euphrasie is the French version of the Greek name Euphrasia, meaning Good Cheer. It is the name Fantine gives her daughter in _Les Misérables_. If you didn’t know that it’s because she’s referred to as Cosette consistently throughout the musical.

I should note that when Euphrasie Richards was thrown in the River by Theodosia Miranda she proved to be a remarkable swimmer and despite her ordeal appeared even more radiant when she was wet than before she was tossed overboard.

[12]Lorenzo Music was the original voice of Peter Venkman on the Real Ghostbusters, he was also the voice of the Garfield cartoon. He will ALWAYS be the cartoon voice of Peter Venkman, I don’t care if they bring in Uncle Joey from Full House. Accept no substitutions.


	11. X

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author's Note, June 29th, 2018: This story will be going on a brief break between now and September 1, 2018. I will be away from home most of July, only to then turn around and move to a new apartment, followed by the start of another semester of graduate school and teaching the survey of American history pre-Civil War to undergraduates. I will be available via direct message and tumblr and I'll keep writing but I don't want anyone to get their hopes up, I doubt I'll have much time to post stuff until the fall. Thank you all so much for your continued interest and support of this story. I hope it continues to keep your interest and that subsequent chapters will be worth the wait!_

* * *

 

** X **

 

Compared to the last Poltergeist, the noisy spirit at the Rose Dance Club was as easy to bust as a Class III. Yes, it had harassed many of the patrons and flipped women’s skirts over their heads and been a general nuisance (at one point playing Minnie the Moocher ten times in a row at full volume) but it had not started throwing furniture or turning anyone into a punching bag.[1]  They had incarcerated the thing in the middle of the dance floor, Ray dramatically clearing a hole in the crowd with the throw of a trap. Being as focused as he was to not cross the streams or melt anyone’s face off Egon had not really registered the size of the crowd watching them until the thunderous applause once the trap shut. There had to be over a hundred people in the club, all staring at him. Essentially the entire population of a small midwestern town had watched him run and bark orders and shoot and trap this entity. And now they were going wild.

Peter was eating the attention up like he had never been acknowledged for anything ever. Ray was tomato red but looked secretly pleased under his embarrassment. Egon just felt nauseous. He hoped the earth would just swallow him up. Except sinkholes were uncommon in Manhattan. And honestly, being buried alive was a terrible way to die.

God, now they were chanting “Ghost-Busters! Ghost-Busters!”

It took ten minutes to get off the dance floor and to the manager’s office to collect payment. The crush of dancers once fleeing for their lives was suddenly on top of them, reaching, touching, grasping like they were biblical saints who could cure ailments with contact. Someone grabbed his ass.[2]

“Let’s hear it for the boys!” the DJ had regained control of the microphone. Egon ground his teeth. Boy? He was forty years old. He hated when people infantilized adults.[3]

Then he realized it was a pop song.

_LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE BOY! LET’S GIVE THE BOY A HAND! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MY BABY, YOU KNOW YOU GOTTA UNDERSTAND…. **[4]**_

“They loved us!” Peter exclaimed as the soundproof door closed, blocking out the extremely loud song and screams of enthusiastic patrons. Egon was positive he had damaged his hearing even in the brief time the music had been on. He could also feel a headache coming on, tension climbing up his back, seizing the muscles in his neck, and squeezing like a vice around his forehead.

The manager, a small, perpetually angry sounding Northern Irish man in a tight red suit was “pretty fuckin’ chuffed” they’d taken care of the poltergeist so quickly and then utterly appalled by the fee, although he did eventually open the safe and pay the five thousand dollars in cash – handing over a roll of bills the size of a baseball that Peter immediately snapped up.[5]

“Why don’t you stay the rest of the night – get some people to buy you drinks, help me recoup some of my losses, lads?” He nodded to the payment.

“Sounds perfect! Gentlemen, let’s cut footloose.” Peter had accepted for all of them and was half out the door in the bat of an eye.

“No.” Peter, Ray, and the manager stared at him.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving the Poltergeist in the trap in the car parked on the street with all of our equipment in the back in order to permanently damage my hearing.” Ray, who had been excited, suddenly looked chagrined.

“Eeg’s right, Pete.”

“Oh, come on! Live a little!” Stuck between the Id and the Superego Ray was visibly torn and lost – like a puppy, only sad.

“Look,” Egon had reached a compromise he thought would be well received. “I will take the trap and our equipment back. You stay here and enjoy yourselves and catch a cab back.”

“Spengs,” Peter began as they loaded their equipment into the back of the Ecto-1. “You could always drop everything off and come back and enjoy the night. Maybe you could observe the human courting and mating ritual up close.”

Contrary to Peter’s constant innuendos, Egon had some practical knowledge of courtship and intercourse.[6]He simply didn’t have any interest in either practice if it involved overly loud, crowded bars. A walk was his more speed or going for coffee, maybe attending a new exhibition at the science museum or a public lecture - considerably quitter activities with a dramatically reduced chance of being grouped by a stranger.[7]

“I doubt Ms. Melnitz would appreciate all of us out carousing while she remains at the office worrying.” Peter and Ray exchanged looks, ones he could not quite interpret in their current context and under the subpar lighting of a street lamp.

“It’s not our fault she doesn’t go home at the end of her shift. She can play for overtime all she likes, but she won’t get it.” Anger flared in Egon’s chest. Suggesting that Janine was only invested in their wellbeing for mercenary purposes rather than a genuine concern and capacity for empathy. Completely disregarding her feelings in favor of getting drunk and dancing and utterly trivializing a sincere sign of support and friendship. Ms. Melnitz had been steadfast in her support of their enterprise since she’d been hired, even during the weeks when they had nothing but crank calls and crazies off the street come to harass her. She kept the entire office functioning and made sure the bills got paid so that they even had an office. But no, Peter enjoyed snipping at the woman about money and threatening to fire her for behaving toward him exactly as he behaved toward her.

“Considering the condition we arrived back in after the last Poltergeist, I believe her concern for our wellbeing was founded.” He ground out through clenched teeth. Peter threw up his hands.

“Whatever, Man, it’s your loss – we’ll be drinking like kings tonight!”

Peter watched Egon drive away, his arm slung over Ray’s shoulder.

“Did you see his face?! I wanted to say, “go home to the wife” but he looked like he was overloaded as it was.” Peter hooted with laughter.

“Are you certain we shouldn’t have gone back with him?”

“Little late for that now, Francine.” Peter clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s have some fun.”[8]

**X**

It took a moment after parking the Ecto-1 for Egon to pry his fingers from the steering wheel. He was still seething. Peter Venkman was his best friend since before he understood what the term meant, but sometimes he could be so…hedonistic, flippant, uncaring, selfish…his mind provided a plethora of adjectives for the psychiatrist. Worst of all Venkman had convinced Ray to say as well. Ray, who was usually so good at putting others first. Peter had laughed at him for wanting to go home after over twelve hours on his feet and drug Ray back into the bar to go chase women while he returned to the Firehouse to clean the traps, put the equipment away and take care of everything else that needed to be done at the end of a busy day.

His knuckles hurt. Looking down Egon found instead of the wheel his hands were clenched in fists, knuckles white. He took a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. There was no logical reason for him to be as annoyed as he was and yet it roiled in him.

Ms. Melnitz had been sheet white as she handed over the information, their last encounter with a poltergeist clearly vivid in her memory. Although Ray promised his “Neene” that they would be careful and that she could go ahead and go home for the evening she had demurred, saying something about maybe after she finished the filing (her desk had been nearly empty, but no one was willing to admit that fact). Her expression as they loaded into the Ecto-1 was etched into his mind.

Egon took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and annoyed, which given his headache was a reasonable outcome. A tea and a full night’s sleep should return him to a less sour mood. 1:15am his watch read. He hadn’t been up this late since his dissertation days. Sighing, Egon got out of the car and began taking care of the equipment. The firehouse was still and quiet, Ms. Melnitz’s desk clean and empty, although the lamp remained on. It was odd for her not to be there when they arrived back, glasses perched on her nose as she typed, classical music playing from her radio.

Returning to the garage bay after emptying the trap Egon noticed that Ms. Melnitz’s purse was still sitting beside her desk along with a pair of pink and white tennis shoes. He stopped beside her desk and stared at the bag. While not well versed in the habits of women, he was entirely confident that women who carried a purse did not just leave said purse at work when they went home. She had not gone home in the hours they had been gone, playing hide and seek with a spirit. There were no signs of a struggle which suggested she was somewhere upstairs. Egon plugged in the proton packs and hung up his jumpsuit. Given their full schedule of busts and the weather he had forgone his usual wardrobe under the suit for a pair of jeans and tee shirt. He felt practically naked, although he could be wearing less - Ray was running around in just his boxers and a tee shirt under the suit.

“Ms. Melnitz?” He called, she had not come down to her desk in the time it took him to unload and store the equipment. She was not in the kitchen, although it was clear she had been earlier, the counters were tidied, and the sink was spotless.

Egon found Ms. Melnitz in the living room, bathed in moonlight, asleep half upright on the sofa, a book in her lap. Clearly, she had not gone home but rather had seemed determined to wait for their return. And Peter did not give a damn about her concern. For a moment Egon just stared at the petite woman, her head pillowed on her arm, shoes kicked off and feet tucked under her. Did he wake her? Or would it be better to let her sleep? She looked so peaceful, her features relaxed and half illuminated by the velvet moon. She was a truly beautiful woman. He scarcely allowed himself to admit it, but it was true. He was particularly drawn to her smile, the rare instances it appeared naturally, blooming in her cheeks and her eyes. His eyes slid from her face down her body and observed her shiver. The dress she had worn was appropriate for the hot weather during the day, but during sleep body temperatures dropped. Over the back of the sofa was a large quilt a relation of Ray’s had made him ages ago, the pattern was garish, but it was thick and well made. He had woken up under it more than once after falling asleep in the very same spot. Quietly he unfolded the blanket and began tucking it around her slim shoulders.

She jumped out of her skin, sending the book in her lap flying and nearly hitting her head on his jaw.

“Egon!” She exclaimed, her eyes immediately snapping to his. For a moment he thought she might lay into him for getting so close to her as she was sleeping. Her hands flew to his face and he braced for a slap. And honestly what was he thinking looming over her when she was vulnerable?

The slap never came. Instead her hands firmly grasp his face, her eyes searching.

“Are you alright? Is everyone okay? What took you so long? Did you have to go to the hospital?” She had a thousand questions, her mind and mouth working faster than the rest of her senses. She did not realize she had used his first name – the first ever. She did not see that he was perfectly fine standing before her. “Why didn’t you call? I’d have met you at the hospital. I hope it’s not Ray, he just finished healing-” Carefully he grasped her hands and held them away from his face.

“Ms. Melnitz.” Egon began but she paid him no attention. “Janine.” He tried again. It was the first he’d used her given name in speaking to her, though he found himself increasingly using it when he thought of their auburn-haired secretary. She stopped when he said her name, stopped and actually looked at him, her senses finally registering the stimuli they took in.

“No one’s in the hospital.” He assured her. “We are all fine, this poltergeist was not nearly so violent as the last.” She stared up at him for a moment, her hazel eyes reading his face for the truth. It was not the first time someone had studied his face, he was quite used to the stares of those trying to figure out what he was talking about, others who doubted if he was serious (he always was) but none of those looks laid him bare like this one did. Outside of his usual choice of clothes he already felt vulnerable. Her eyes only made him feel more so. _Danger Will Robinson, Danger! **[9]**_

She removed her hands from his, awkwardly smoothing them down the front of her skirt. “Thank God. You all scared me coming home like that last time.” Home. He didn’t need to feel vulnerable, he was safe. He was home.

“Where’s Ray? And Venkman?”

“They stayed.”

“Why? Do you have to go back out?” Egon shook his head, surprisingly he felt less annoyed than before. His head still ached, and his ears were ringing a little ( _hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee-hi)_ but the tension had faded from his shoulders and hands.

“No, the manager at the Rose offered VIP bottle service all night.”

“That _Momzer_![10]I can’t believe – except I can - he’d just leave me to worry all night!” Egon felt himself smirk. Peter had been so flippant about her concern and he had told him she would be worried. “And Ray too?” He nodded. She sighed heavily.

“I came back in case you were still here. I – We – didn’t want you to worry.” Heat crept up the back of his neck and his palms felt damp. Awkwardly he stuck his hands in his pockets. Janine gave him another searching look, for what he did not know, but she looked away and he could not decide if that meant she found it or not.

“Thank you.” She said softly.

A beat.

He cleared his throat.

“Speaking of worrying, you’re planning on taking a cab home at this hour or would you prefer to stay and return home in the morning, it’s late.” She rubbed her eyes before examining her wristwatch. She let out a slow whistle. 2:00am.

“I didn’t mean to stay this late.” She said, gathering up her book and her shoes. “But-” she gestured to the sofa.

“It’s a comfortable couch, I’ve fallen asleep there plenty of times.”

 “I know.” Egon tried to read her face, but she refused to meet his eye and busied herself with folding the blanket. “I should head home. Thank God it’s Friday.”

“Saturday now.”

“Either way, I won’t be back in until Monday.” Task complete she headed for the stairs. “Good night Dr. Spengler.”

He reached out and stopped her, afraid to actually take her arm but tentatively touching it.

“How are you getting home?”

“The Subway,” He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off, “I’ve been taking the train all my life Dr. Spengler, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not the only one who worries, you know.”

“I know. Would it make you feel better if I called as soon as I got home?”

**X**

The phone rang shrilly, causing Egon to jolt out of his dozing. He’d completed his nightly ablutions and settled himself beside the phone to wait.

“Hello?”

“I’ve made it home, hale, hearty, and unmolested, as I predicted.” There was warmth in Janine’s voice as it carried over the phone lines, he could almost hear the slight shake to her head as she spoke, clearly thinking he had been overreacting.

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“Hey, Dr. Spengler,” he thought she would ring off, but she didn’t, “Do me a favor – wake Venkman and Ray up obnoxiously early for me, wouldya?” A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Wonderful. Good night.”

“Goodnight, Janine.”

 

Across the bridge in Brooklyn Janine stared at her phone for a moment before placing the receiver back in its cradle and doing a little twirl and happy dance. The way he said her name… and he had said it twice! Her crush was so far gone it wasn’t even funny, but she couldn’t bring herself to worry about it. He came back to the office specifically so that she wouldn’t worry – he cared! She would allow herself the rest of the night for girlish fantasy before getting a grip on herself in the morning. Janine collapsed into bed at 3am with a smile on her face.

**X**

“Who wants to buy me a drink?!” Peter announced himself with flourish reentering the bar. The DJ had the music going once again and the crowd had resumed its evening of dancing, the dance floor looking like a writhing mess. There were several takers and before he fully knew what was happening Ray found himself three tequila shots in, with Peter entreating a young guy in a popped collar polo to buy a round of drinks for the “heroes”. Venkman walked away from the bar with a crown and coke, Ray however wanted to maintain some of his wits about him and decided to stick to beer the remainder of the night. 

Crown and coke in hand Peter surveyed the bar around them, now that he wasn’t actively trying to capture a ghost. It was damn near impossible to see much in the way of architectural features of the club neon lights and disco balls insufficient illumination for details. On a hot, late August Friday night the crush of people on the dance floor was more interesting than crown molding anyway. Despite the apparition earlier the club was still packed. There was a bar on either side of the dance floor at presumably at least one up the stairs that led off to the right and onto a balcony overlooking the writhing mass of dancers. At the far end of the floor was the stage, live acts could play a gig at the Rose, but it was a DJ tonight, his equipment sprawled over the riser, a girl in a body stocking and a caplet dancing on the table near the soundboard. The music, such as they’d heard thus far was an eclectic mix of Top 40 and Rock with some older stuff, including Jackie Wilson and other soul, as well as just about anything with a dance beat. Currently Lionel Richie was singing about dancing “All Night Long”, before that it was “Do you love me” and Madonna Expressing herself.[11]Ever the critic Venkman wished the DJ would pick a more consistent musical aesthetic but given the fact that for every person who walked off the dance floor at a song change another three squealed and ran on to boogie down to whatever was playing.

Drinking down his cocktail so it didn’t spill when he launched himself into the melee of dancers to show the kids how it was done Venkman saw her across the bar – Miss Eight O’clock. Her hair was bigger and blonder than last he saw her and she was wearing what looked like a gold sequin romper and heels bigger than the average man’s penis. Lord have mercy. He made his way over, finishing his drink in two swigs and handed the empty glass to a random person as he walked by. Peter ran a hand through his hair before approaching the young woman dancing with a friend.

“I AM SO GLAD I FOUND YOU!”[12]He had to shout to be heard over the music, now the opening strains of “Pretty Woman”. “I WAS SO WORRIED WHEN I COULDN’T MAKE OUR 8 O’CLOCK APPOINTMENT!” Miss Eight O’clock turned to stare at him, her blue eyes sweeping over him from work boot to smile. Recognition dawned on her, but not in the way he imagined.

“OH MY GOD, TIFFANY!” She grabbed her friend, an unnaturally red-haired woman in an oversized black fedora. “IT’S HIM! THE GUY I TOLD YOU ABOUT.”

“PETER VENKMAN, DOCTOR PETER VENKMAN, GHOSTBUSTER, AT YOUR SERVICE!” He extended his hand with his most charming smile. Miss Eight O’clock was conventionally attractive, dressed very a la mode, her friend on the other hand definitely looked like she was in film school and working as a Warhol factory girl on the weekends.[13]

“AS I WAS SAYING, I’M SORRY I MISSED OUR APPOINTMENT!”

“NO WORRIES, I STOOD YOU UP!”

“AH, BECAUSE YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO BE GONE, I TOLD YOU, YOU’RE A TRUE PHENOMENON!”

“NO! BECAUSE I WAS NEVER GOING TO MEET YOU AT 8 O’CLOCK! HONESTLY YOU THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO SEE YOU AGAIN? CHRIST, YOU’RE WORSE THAN I THOUGHT!”

“WHAT?!” It was horrible trying to hear conversation over the bass of Roy Orbison, but he was pretty sure she had just called him terrible.

“YOU WERE THE SINGLE MOST SEXIST, CONDESENDING FACULTY MEMBER I HAVE EVER COME ACROSS IN MY FOUR YEARS AT COLUMBIA! AND THAT’S SAYING SOMETHING!”

“WHAT?! YOU WERE FLIRTING WITH ME!”

“FUCK NO! YOU STARTED TREATING ME LIKE I WAS STUPID, SO I DECIDED TO SEE HOW STUPID YOU THOUGHT I COULD BE!”[14]

“WAIT,” Her friend chimed in, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “YOU THOUGHT SHE HAD FALLEN FOR YOUR CHARM? I HEARD YOU WERE ATTROCIOUS.”

“HONESTLY, CONSTRUCTION WORKERS HAVE PRESENTED MORE NUIANCED COME ONS THAN YOU!” The women laughed. Really and truly laughed - deep from their soul - they laughed in his face.

**X**

Ray loved to dance. It was one of his fondest memories of his parents, watching them dancing around the kitchen listening to Solomon Burke. His parents had belonged to a supper club that frequently went out dancing after their dinners. Music was a standard part of the Leuenberger family reunion every year. His mother had played piano in the Leuenberger family band, Opa had played fiddle, His great-uncles Klement and Joseph guitar, his cousin Keith the bass.[15]He’d learned to play harmonica at fourteen and joined the band thereafter. Aunt Edwina had taught him the basics of every dance he’d ever need to know in the back yard of his parents’ house on Long Island. He didn’t swing much anymore but he kept up the harmonica and couldn’t stop himself from singing if he knew the words. Which made fixing the car with the radio on more fun – until he realized Janine could hear his concert. She, however, never laughed at him. In fact, once she’d threatened to invite him to Karaoke night with one of her friends.[16]

Before he knew it, he’d gone from hovering on the corner of the dance floor, tapping his toes and bopping along with the beat, to in the middle of the dance floor cutting a rug as the spirit moved him, his eyes closed just _feeling_. Pretty Woman came to an end and Ray opened his eyes. There before him with a broad grin on her face was Cosette Richards. The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. Of all the people to see him dancing like an idiot!

She was gorgeous, as always, her blonde hair falling in waves around her face and over her bare shoulders. Her dress was a stunning shade of blue that complimented her eyes perfectly. It was made of some sort of slippery, shiny material that looked like water. The top plunged, giving him a view of her breasts, he desperately tried to not stare at, and wrapped around her tiny waist, the skirt fell to her ankles and looked demure until it moved and the slit to her thigh was revealed.

“MS. RICHARDS!” He exclaimed with a start.

“I’m so glad to see so many of you lovely people here tonight!” The DJ announced over the microphone, the song transitioning under his words.“And I would especially like to welcome all of the Ghosts and Ghouls who have chosen to join us here in the Rose at this time, and the Ghostbusters here to escort them out after the show!I do sincerely hope that you all enjoy the show and please remember people, that no matter who you are and what you do to live, thrive and survive-There are still some things that make us all the same:You, me … them, Everybody! Everybody!”[17]A cover of Solomon Burke’s Everybody Needs Somebody to Love began playing after the little intro from the DJ, which had gotten several hoots and hollers from the crowd at the mention of Ghosts and Ghostbusting.

“CALL ME COSETTE DR. STANTZ!” He heard her yell.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO DANCE?” What the hell, he was a couple deep, on the middle of a dance floor with couples all around and it was Blues Music. His music. Cosette looked at his extended hand and took it with a smile.

“I’D LOVE TO!” Of course, after making such an offer he had to follow through. He nearly died when he put her hand on her back and found nothing but bare skin under his palm. It’d been a long time since he’d done anything like a partner dance and this cover of Everybody Needs Somebody to Love was fast, but eventually he found his feet enough to lead. For her part Cosette as a fantastic dance partner. Once they found their rhythm she followed him effortlessly adding her own flare where she could – a kick, a twist, a shimmy.

“YOU ARE PHENOMINAL! WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DANCE?”

“The Savoy!”[18]He looked at her hard, trying to read her lips, but they were distractingly full and pink that he couldn’t figure out their words.

“WHAT?”

“FRANKIE MANNING TAUGHT ME! WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DANCE?”

“MY AUNT EDWINA!” He spun her out and pulled her back into his arms as the DJ broke in over the record again.

“You know, people, when you do find somebody, hold that woman, hold that man! Love him, please him, squeeze her, please her! Hold, squeeze and please that person, give 'em all your love! Signify your feelings with every gentle caress, because it’s so important to have that special somebody, to hold kiss, miss, squeeze, and please!”

“PREACH!” Cosette shouted over the din and dissolved into ebullient laugher. She was probably a little drunk, but then so was he.

“WHAT BRINGS YOU OUT TONIGHT?”

“MY FRIEND EMILY’S 25th BIRTHDAY!” 25. It hit him like a punch to the gut. 25. That was way too young. What was he doing? She must have noticed his change in demeanor, the fault in his step. “SHE MAKES ME FEEL SO OLD.” He studied her face as the song came to an end.

_I need you, you, you, you_ _! I need you, you, you, you!I need you, you! I need you!_

“BUY YOU-” She began to say.

“RAY WE NEED TO GO!” Peter found them on the dance floor, his face thunderous.

“WHAT?” Cosette shook her head, a sad smile on her lips.

“I’LL SEE YOU LATER DR. STANTZ.” And with that she disappeared into the crowd. Ray rounded on his friend. Peter was practically vibrating with anger.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!”

 

The entire cab ride home Peter barely spoke, but Ray did hear him mutter under his breath a few times, “Laugh at me, will they?!” Ray decided he should leave further inquiries for another time.

* * *

 

[1]Minnie the Moocher is a classic big band, scat song performed by the indelible Cab Calloway. It involves the call and response style in which Calloway would get the audience to repeat increasingly more complex vocal improvisations. One of the many versions of this song, and of Calloway’s performance style is in the 1980 film, The Blues Brothers.

[2]Blatant self-insertion.

[3]You and me both, Eeg.

[4]Let’s Hear it for the Boy, Deniece Williams, _Footloose Soundtrack_ , 1984.

[5]The Rose Manager is 100% based on Robert Carlyle’s character in the film Dead Fish, Danny.

[6]Re: Egon’s virginity, because yes, I think about it. I can totally see him being a virgin until he and Janine get together because he’s got his priorities straight and their Science, Snacks, and more Science. However, I could also see him making ONE attempt at things when he was like 20 something as a minor act of rebellion and curiosity that went exactly nowhere, and he gave up after that.

[7]I am dying for a scene in which Egon takes Janine out to like an exhibit on fungus and he completely geeks out the whole time and people give them all kinds of looks cuz she’s dressed for like a date and he keeps monologuing about stuff but she can’t bring herself to be upset because he looks so goddamn cute when he’s passionate about something and so they actually have a really great date.

[8]Peter Venkman, Professional Bad Influence (TM)

[9]“Danger Will Robinson” is a line from the 1960s Lost in Space. I doubt Egon was allowed to watch much television in his youth, but I figure such an iconic line probably was used enough around him by like Ray and Peter that he gets the reference to a degree. Put another way my parents used it so much when I was growing up that despite having not seen the show it pops out of my mouth on occasion.

[10] _Momzer_ , Yiddish for a conniving and untrustworthy bastard.

[11]I would not make a good DJ, pretend these songs would flow together in some way.

[12]I’m sorry for the gratuitous use of caps lock but they’re YELLING because the bar is very LOUD. This is the reason why I stopped going to clubs almost the minute I was allowed into them.

[13]If for no other reason see the film Factory Girl (about Andy Warhol, Edie Sedgwick, etc.) for the fashion. So much chic mod fashion.

[14]Basically, I imagine Miss 8 O’clock having signed up for Venkman’s experiment out of honest interest, got in the room and realized he was having both her and the other test subject on and got fed up with it so decided to conduct her own social experiment. Venkman played straight into her hands by assuming she was both too stupid to realize he was lying and coming on stronger and stronger. Hypothesis proved: Men are Trash.

[15]Opa is German for Grandfather. If Ray has some Swiss heritage there’s a good chance they spoke German. My mother’s side of the family is extremely musical, especially her Mother’s generation – sadly now all deceased. Every Boldra family reunion the “band” got together, basically any family member that could play an instrument, and they’d distribute song books and do requests for the last hour or so of the reunion. If you didn’t play you had to sing – or dance. My great-Uncle Oscar was NOT shy about grabbing someone and teaching them a two-step out in the yard.

[16]One of these days I’m going to write a story about Ray and Noelle doing Karaoke and discovering their mutual love for jazz, the blues, and soul and she starts working Ray into her act. I absolutely must write a scene where Ray performs “Rubber Biscuit” at Karaoke (Ackroyd performs it as Elwood Blues, check it out sometime). It becomes an inside joke between the two of them to the point that Ray will sneak up behind Janine at work and just say the words “Rubber Biscuit” like he does in the song and she dies laughing. Egon is both confused and jealous of such developments.

[17]This is a blatant riff on Elwood Blues’ lines in the film.

[18]The Savoy Ballroom, was THE ballroom for swing music and dance, located on Lennox avenue between 140thand 141ststreets in Harlem. It has a fascinating, and important place in the history of Lindy Hop and Jazz music. It’s where Frankie Manning and the other members of Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers perfected not only the Lindy Hop but also the Mambo and Jive. The Savoy is also where Chick Webb defeated Benny Goodman’s orchestra in the first “Cutting Contest” in 1937. Webb went on to defeat the Count Basie Band in 1938.


	12. XI

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.  
 _Author's Note_ : As promised I am back from summer hiatus. Classes have stated for me and my students sos updates will likely appear twice a month rather than every week but I promise I am still working on this story and related shorts. Thank you all for sticking with me, hopefully you enjoy this update.

* * *

 

** XI **

He checked the address for the sixth time since exiting the Subway. Was he sure about this? No. Did he need a job? Yes, desperately.

_What the hell are you going to do with a B.A. in history? **[1]**_   His father hadn’t been mocking or angry, the question had been sincere. His parents had been legitimately curious when he declared he was going to college fifteen years after graduating high school. They had been supportive, letting him stay over their garage rent free while he got his B.A. Their interest made the question worse than if they had asked it out of malice. They were excited – hopeful – when they had asked.

_What the hell are you going to do with a B.A. in history?_

Nothing. He could do nothing.

Months out of graduating _Summa Cum Laude_  he was still pounding pavement. There was always going back and working for his dad again, there was always a place for family _because family means no one gets left behind. **[2]** _ It wasn’t that his father wouldn’t welcome him back to the company like they’d not missed a beat, it was his pride. _Pride goeth before the fall._  He reminded himself with a chuckle. Considering what he was about to do, he was on the precipice.

Winston Ramsey Zeddemore squared his shoulders and straightened his blazer and entered the large wooden door under the jaunty sign with a giant red bar through a ghost.

**X**

The firehouse was structurally sound, if remodeled by armatures. The son of a construction contractor, it was impossible for him not to notice the flaws. Whomever fixed up the space had done a decent job with the original architectural detail. He hated when places remodeled the soul out of a building – having a little character never hurt anyone.[3]

The door opened onto a garage bay, now empty of the vehicle with a fuel leak (a not so small puddle reflected rainbows on the concrete). To his right were wooden lockers and a gleaming metal pole. To his left were shelves of equipment, including half an automotive shop. Beyond the shelves was a sturdy desk, warm lamp light and soft music surrounding it.

“Did it have arms and legs or was it just a mist?” He’d know a Brooklyn accent anywhere, it was a balm to his soul, all these years later. He had vowed in Vietnam to never take it (or a proper bagel) for granted ever again. The sister asking the real questions had the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she riffled through a filing cabinet drawer. Her voice was the first thing he noticed about her, as it carried throughout the garage.

The second thing he noticed about her was her multitasking, she was wrestling with a folder while asking follow up questions about …. Histories of paranormal or demonic activity, a pencil stuck behind her ear. The third thing he noticed about her were her legs. She had killer gams. They were covered with sheer dark hose and crowned by a leather pencil skirt a few inches north of her knees. The low-heeled pumps did sinful things to her calves. (The rest of was good looking as well, but Winston was a leg man, always had been).[4]

The fourth thing he quickly noticed was that he was not alone in admiring the woman’s legs. Beside the shelves was a cupboard, loaded down with coffee equipment and accessories. Standing beside the coffeemaker was a tall man in a grey sweater vest. He was ostensibly stirring a cup of coffee. He was also obviously staring. Behind his round wire glasses his gaze was clearly tracing the seams up the back of her legs. Whatever he’d added to the cup was well and truly dissolved, his hand went round and round but he was absolutely oblivious. Winston recognized the expression on his face – there was unguarded wonder and awe in his eyes. It was more than just desire, though there was that, it was more akin to at last finding the sweet mysteries of life.[5]

“Yes, well, we’re booked out until then. For what it’s worth in our experience, while frightening, the ghost you are describing is only a class three. It should remain harmless. Don’t hesitate to relocate if this changes, but…” The woman was trying to ring off, the file finally put away in the drawer. As she went to sit at the desk the man managed to come to his senses and refocus his attention before he was caught staring. He crossed to the desk and set the mug down and the woman expertly ended one call and picked up the one on hold. She looked up at the man when he presented the coffee and smiled (the fifth thing he noticed about her was that she had a lovely smile). Winston watched her sign thank you as she listened to the person on the other end of the line. Her red tipped fingers touched her lips then moved forward and down. The man gestured in response, most likely “you’re welcome” but Winston’s ASL was limited to what his sister had taught his nieces before they could talk (thank you, juice, No, and more the most common).[6]  Reluctantly the man headed for the stairs.

As a tall black man Winston Zeddemore was unused to being invisible, but he was certain the man never saw him. He had assumed this of the woman as well, especially since when she hung up she closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair for a moment.

“You here about the job?” she asked, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Uh, yes. I’m Winston Zeddemore…” She stood and took his hand, even in heels she was a small woman.

“Janine Melnitz.” She offered him a seat and took his resume, her hazel eyes dancing over it as she sipped her fresh coffee.

“History degree, huh?”

“For all the good it’s done me.”

“Do you have a particular era you like?’ It wasn’t the question he expected, but he had an answer.

“Ancient Egypt, hands down.” Everything about it – the art, the architecture, the language, the cosmology, its methods of war and its political intrigues.

“My nephew has been begging to go see the Art and Antiquity exhibition on mummies that just opened – I assume you’ve heard about it?” Heard about it? He’d had opening day marked on the calendar since it’d been announced almost a year ago.

“Their regular Egyptian exhibit is really well done.” He’d practically lived there when he’d written his senior capstone. The current curator, Layla Martin, was the reason he was a history major. Her article, “Death on the Nile: Murder and Justice in the Early Ptolemaic Period”, had inspired him to change his major.[7]

The phone rang. Ms. Melnitz answered it with an apologetic look.

“Ghostbusters.”

As he listened to the conversation it struck him. He was applying to work for a company called _Ghostbusters_. What the hell?

Winston believed in an immortal soul. His uncle was a Baptist minister and he himself knew the light of the Lord. Souls unable to move on broke his heart but he understood them. He was prepared to accept the divine and the preternatural and paranormal influence on the present. He was less certain if mortal man could influence such interactions. He was also exceedingly skeptical of three white boys in Tribeca claiming the power to intervene and capture ghosts. But it was a job – and if they were for real it’d make for a better story than anything else he’d done. Ms. Melnitz hung up and chugged her coffee, some of it dripping down her pointed chin. Wiping the spill on the back of her hand she resumed the interview process.

“Can I ask something?” He nodded to the phone. “Is this for real?”

“Oh yeah. They’ve been running their asses off. It’s gotten worse in the last weeks. We’ve all been on call.” She yawned and blushed.

“People are actually seeing ghosts.”

“That call was about a bleeding elevator.” She said as calmly as if she said, “that call was about TPS reports”.[8] He winced.

“Do they go after all spirits? I’ve seen a little bit about how this works, does everything get trapped?”

“Usually if people call they’ve got concerns, so a lot of what they do is trap and incarcerate. But there’s a lot of research involved and sometimes they facilitate crossing over rather than just trappin’ em.”

“Research is good. I can do that.”

“To be honest, Mr. Zeddemore, given the equipment, I think your weapons training will probably be more pertinent.” He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.   “Anyway, the hours aren’t great but it’s eleven five with benefits.” She yawned again, behind a manicured hand. Apparently, everyone’s hours weren’t great - given how fast she drank her coffee and the yawning. But still eleven five was eleven five _and_  benefits.

“The only instructions I have on interviewing is I have to ask the following”, she pulled out a slip of paper with scrawled handwriting that only vaguely resembled letters and words. “Do you believe in UFOs, astral projection, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, full trance mediums, telekinetic movement, black and/or white magic, pyramidology, the theory of Atlantis, the Loch Ness monster, or in general spooks, spectres, waiths, geists, and ghosts?” She rattled the list off flatly, as if she’d gone over it too many times already.

Good God, what had he walked into? Winston wondered in horror. He believed in an immortal soul and thus could wrap his mind around the idea of spirits and ghosts. But this shit? UFOs? Honestly. _Chariots of the Gods?_  had infuriated him, even before he got his degree in history, before he specialized in ancient history. Not only was the idea that man couldn’t figure things out so limited, it always seemed like it was the black and brown folks that couldn’t do anything without help. It was presentist claptrap and relied on a completely ahistorical and anachronistic look at the world and the ancient past. ‘Oh well if you just change some of the words in this sentence in the Bible to the word Alien then the bible is talking about Aliens’ well not fucking shit.[9]

Astral projection? Mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance? Spirit photography? He wasn’t entirely certain he even knew what some of that was. And yet there were _benefits_.

“As long as there’s a steady paycheck in it, I’ll believe anything.” She shot him a rueful smile. The garage door opened before they could say more. The car sounded like it had some serious problems – probably related to the fluid all over the floor.  Out of the front seat got two nearly identical men. Not to suggest that all white guys look alike but they were essentially the same height, with the same hair color, wearing matching jumpsuits covered in _something_ ,  smoking cigarettes. They circled around to the back seat of what looked like a hearse that had been to hell and pulled out what at first appeared like a bundle of smoking cables. The smell of coffee, old building, and car repair was soon overwhelmed by a metallic-sulfuric odor. Winston glanced at the office manager, but she made no outward acknowledgement of the strong scent. 

The phone rang. There’d been five, maybe ten minutes without it sounding.

“Boy, that was a rough one.” One man said to the other. He had driven the car and was now carrying two bundles of cable, which upon further inspection were attached to two smoking metal boxes with blinking red lights. He was younger than his companion with brown hair that stuck up, in defiance of what appeared like a vague attempt to make it into a recognizable style.

“I can’t take much more of this, the pace is killing me.” The other man agreed, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He was older, though it could have just been his face, which was wearier, lined with cynicism and a few scars. His hair was longer, shag hanging below his collar.

“Please hold.” Beside him, Janine stood, stabbing a button on the office phone with force. The man holding the boxes greeted her with a tired but friendly smile and him with a nod before heading toward the basement stairs. The other man stopped at the corner of the desk and dropped an invoice on it.

“Paper on the Brooklyn job, she paid with a visa.” She picked it up and put it in a paper tray on the other corner of her desk. As she did so she placed her large, pink framed reading glasses on her nose with her other hand.

“I have tonight’s calls.” She announced. The man with the boxes stopped and turned back from the stairs. “Two more free-repeaters.” She handed a sheaf of yellow work orders to the man who’d given her the invoice. Both men cursed.

“And this is Winston Zeddemore, he’s here about the job.”  She gestured to him, her voice less abrasive than it had been a moment before. He stood, awkwardly.

“Hi!” the man by the door said, “Ray Stantz,” he gestured to himself, cigarette in hand. “Peter Venkman.” The older one, Peter, shook his hand. It was a firm hand shake, though there was something on his palm that was cold and felt like mucus. Winston did his best not to react, but even with fifteen years in the service he wasn’t sure how straight his face stayed.

“And someone from the EPA is here to see you.”

“The EPA, what does he want?”

“I don’t know. All I do know is that I haven’t had a break in two weeks and _you promised you’d hire more help_.”  She jerked her auburn head in his direction as she fixed Venkman with a searing glare.[10]

“Congratulations, Mr. Zeddemore, you’re hired. Help me with these, would you please?” The other guy, Ray, broke in, diffusing the mounting tension between the Ghostbuster and secretary with ease. It was pretty clear Venkman and Janine had one of those relationships.

The boxes stank and were warm and were sticky. Whatever was on the jumpsuits Ray and Peter were wearing was on the boxes as well. He was going to have to get his blazer dry-cleaned. Winston wanted to complain but resisted as it was literally his first five minutes on the job. As he followed Ray down the stairs he heard Peter snap,

“Janine, I am sure a woman with your qualifications would have no trouble finding a topflight job in the housekeeping or food service industry.” Rude.

“I’ve quit better jobs than this.” Janine snapped back. The phone rang. It was the fifth phone call she’d taken in the time he’d been in the firehouse. “Ghostbusters, whadya want?”

**X**

The man sitting in his office had strawberry blond hair neatly quaffed and a trim beard. Why the EPA would be interested in dropping by he had no idea, but Peter had just come off of thirty-six hours of shift and not enough sleep.

“Can I help you?” The man stood.

“I’m Walter Peck, I represent the Environmental Protection Agency, third district.” They shook hands. Walter Peck had one of those Connecticut lockjaw accents that made everything he said sound snobby and pretentious. Between that and the three piece suit he looked like every asshole he’d had to caddy for every summer since he was thirteen. The country club brats that never tipped and blamed the staff for everything. The jerks who never had to work during the school year or pick up two jobs over the summer to make sure ends met at home. Their scholarship was their last names dressed up as “merit”.

“Great, how’s it going?” He had ectoplasm on his hands. Peter couldn’t resist touching the suit with that slime on his fingers. He’d not meant to shake Winston Zeddemore’s hand with ecto on his, poor guy probably should be brought into this insanity gently. Peter had no regrets, however, about rubbing it into the fabric of Peck’s navy jacket. Christ. He owned a tie bar.

“Are you Peter Venkman?” Ugh, the man’s voice as he said his name. He’d rather have Janine at her most Brooklyn screaming at him than listen to this man incredulously said his name.

“Yes, I’m Doctor Venkman.” He plopped down in his office chair. Having a PhD was handy. After ten years of college it gave him something to whip out when he wanted to one up pretentious pricks like Peck.

“Exactly what are you a doctor of, _Mister_ Venkman?”[11]

“I have PhDs in Psychology and Parapsychology.” The diplomas were literally hanging on the wall behind him, signed and everything. Even if he was calling him on his admittedly transparent power play, now he was just being stupid.

“I see.” He did not see. “And now you catch ghosts?”

“You could say that.”

“And how many ghosts have you caught, _Mister_ Venkman?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” The thing was, Peter liked the EPA, he thought it was a good idea. As one of the creatures on this planet he was all for a little responsible stewardship. But the more this guy talked the less he was inclined to do anything he asked.

“And where do you put these “ghosts” once you catch them?”

“In a storage facility.”

“And would this storage facility be located on these premises?” He looked to the firehouse with a sneer. Peter wasn’t overly thrilled about calling this place home, but it was his home nonetheless and only he was allowed to make disparaging remarks about the architecture, décor and general crap that was his home.

“Yes, it would.” There was no way he was going to show it to this guy.

“And may I see the storage facility?”

“No, you may not.”

“And why not, _Mister_ Venkman?”

“Because you didn’t say the magic word.” Was it petty? Absolutely. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Peck sighed.

“And what is the magic word, _Mister_ Venkman?”

“The magic word is ‘please’.” Peck rolled his eyes.

“May I _please_ see the storage facility?”

“Why do you want to see it?” They’d beaten around the bush long enough. Men from the EPA didn’t just pop by for a chat without having an agenda. Peter wanted to know what Peck’s was. Judging by his questions he doubted the ghost of Richard Ballinger was giving them much trouble.[12]

“Well, because I’m curious. I want to know more about what you do here. Frankly, there have been a lot of wild stories in the media and we want to assess any possible environmental impact from your operation. For instance, the storage of noxious, possibly hazardous waste materials in your basement.”

Fuck. Peter refused to show it, but he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach a little bit. He should have known they’d run into this stuff. Joking about having an unlicensed nuclear accelerator aside they literally had four unlicensed nuclear accelerators lying about right that minute. Two were in the Ecto, one was charging, and Egon had been building the fourth in preparation for hiring another set of hands. He wasn’t sure what all was involved in the containment unit itself, Ray and Egon had installed that themselves, but he had a feeling it too probably involved heavy water.[13]

“Now, either you show me what’s down there or I come back with a court order.” Peck threatened.

“Go ahead! Get a court order. Then I’m gunna sue your ass for wrongful prosecution.” Though in the meantime he was going to talk to Egon and Ray and figure out A) what the hell was down there in the first place, B) if they could get rid of any of it discreetly and C) how many rules they had broken and which ones they could try to talk themselves around.

“Have it your way, _Mister_ Venkman.” Peck exited with angry yet still posh grace, the lines of his back straight and ridged under the tailoring of his suit.

“Hey! Make yourself useful! Go save a tree!”

**X**

“So, tell me about yourself.” Ray said as they descended the stairs, merrily puffing away on his cigarette. He was a Camels man. Winston had started out smoking Winston cigarettes because obviously, but when he couldn’t get his Winston Reds he did enjoy Camel Blues.[14]

“Ms. Melnitz has my resume.” It was a good thing Winston felt competent and qualified because he’d just been hired on the spot by a guy who hadn’t even held his resume.

“And I’m sure we’ll read it… eventually. But tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

“I grew up in the Bronx. Spent fifteen years as a Marine, weapons specialist and technical surveillance countermeasures.[15]  I, um, have a B.A. in history with a double minor in classics and archeology.” He tried to put his best foot forward with his brief self-summary, based on the comment Janine had made he figured the weapons background would be a selling point, but he was legitimately proud of his degree in history, so he wasn’t not going to mention it.

“Mr. Zeddemore, we locate ghosts and spirits, trap them with streams of concentrated quantum energy and remove them from people’s homes, offices, and places of worship.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Now tell me what you really do.” Stantz laughed. Threw his head back and laughed. Winston didn’t want to call the guy out, they’d only just met, but that wasn’t an answer.

The basement of the firehouse was a mess, enough to make a person slightly claustrophobic. The room was only half the size of the upstairs because of a concrete block wall added in renovations. On the wall was a red metal panel, it stuck out sharply against the surrounding blocks. On the opposite wall there were floor to ceiling shelves, practically groaning under the weight of bits and bobs of electronic equipment, scrap metal, and at least two bags of chips. The center of the room was dominated by a large metal workbench, nearly invisible under all of the spare parts, catalogues, papers, equipment, cans of beer and various snack foods. _Do you want ants?_ _Because this is how you get ants._  Winston couldn’t help his eyebrow arching at such a mess. Standing in the middle of this chaos was the dark-haired man from upstairs. He didn’t even look up from what he was doing as they entered the room, despite Ray’s ringing laughter.

“Egon,” Winston supposed that was the man’s name, given how Ray said it, but the man didn’t respond to that either. “Peter and I took care of those two class five free repeaters. And we’ve hired some extra help.” The man did look up at that and sat aside his pencil and calculator.

“Winston Zeddemore, Egon Spengler.” Ray waved a hand between the two, cigarette smoke tracing the gesture.

“Hello.” The man nodded back. The man who had been staring at Ms. Melnitz like she was the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything looked to be about his own age, though it was hard to tell, he was dressed in a grey cable knit sweater vest, but his face appeared youthful and his hair was still dark – if standing up in the most ridiculous poofy not quite a style he’d ever seen.[16]

“So, this is our workshop as well as where the containment unit is.” He walked over to the red metal box mounted on the wall. “This is where we store all the vapors, entities, and slimers we trap.” He took the boxes from Winston and set them on top of the pile of junk on the work bench. He removed the cord with a sharp jerk and tossed it in a bin to his left. He then took the box, no longer smoking, but still reeking and sticky by the back handle and turned toward the red panel.

“It’s very simple really. You take a loaded trap,” He held the box up, “open and unlock the system,” he took the L shaped handle in the middle the panel and turned it to the right. Carefully he pulled down the hinged portion of the unit. On the inside of the flap was a chute the exact dimensions as the trap, more or less. “Insert the trap,” he pushed the box in until the handle hit the metal. Above them a red light blinked on. When it blinked off a greenlight took its place.

“Release, close, and lock the system.” After the green light Ray pulled the trap from the chute and lifted the metal door up, making sure it firmly connected with the rest of its metal before turning the L shaped handle back to the original, down position. “Set your entry grid,” He pushed the first of three buttons next to the door, “neutralize your field and…” he pushed a lever down, the entire thing made a heavy industrial sound like something was being dumped on the other side of the wall. The green light blinked, and the lever returned to the upright position.

“The light is green; the trap is clean.” He patted the wall. “The ghost is incarcerated in our custom containment unit.” He dropped the empty trap in a bin marked FOR RECHARGE.

Ray collapsed on one of the lab stools and stubbed his cigarette out on the block wall before dropping the butt in one of the many empty cans lying about. Almost immediately he reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of smokes. Wordlessly he shook himself out a cigarette before offering him one as well. Winston accepted. He wasn’t going to judge either, the circles under the man’s eyes were deep. He looked as though he’d been rode hard and hung up wet. Ray didn’t offer Egon a cigarette. The man either didn’t smoke at all or decided that he could get the same amount of nicotine being in a confined space with Ray chain smoking. 

“I’m worried, Ray.” Egon was at least polite enough to bring is worries to his colleague after the man lit up. “It’s getting crowded in there. All my recent data points to something of exceptional magnitude on the bottom.”

“Just say big, Egon.” Ray muttered.

“What do you mean, ‘big’?” The dark-haired man grabbed a Twinkie off the work bench by his calculator and held it up.

“Let’s say this Twinkie represents the normal amount of psychokinetic energy in the New York Area. According to this morning’s PKE sample, the current level in the city would be a Twinkie,” he paused, obviously calculating in his head, “35 feet long weighing approximately six hundred pounds.”

Goddamn.

“That’s a big Twinkie.” He didn’t entirely understand what all of that PKE stuff meant but he did understand that Twinkies weren’t supposed to be that big. Beside him Ray chocked on his cigarette smoke.

“We could be on the verge of a fourfold crossover…or worse. If what we’re seeing indicates a massive PKE surge, we could experience an actual rip.” Egon nodded gravely and then shoved nearly the entire Twinkie in his mouth.

Clattering on the stairs broke the tension. 

“We just had a visit from the Environmental Protection Agency.” Peter Venkman announced himself. “How’s the grid holding up?”

“Not good.” Egon replied, his voice deeper as he chewed.

“Tell him about the Twinkie.”

“What about the Twinkie?”

* * *

 

[1]The question of my life.

In my case it’s go to graduate school for 7 years and get a MA/PhD in history and THEN not be able to get a job.

[2]Ohana means family and family means nobody gets left behind.

[3]It always breaks my heart when remodels happen and houses and buildings with unique architecture get gutted and turned into modern, minimalist nightmares. Keep the crown molding and the hardwood goddamnit. If you want to make useful improvements, give me more than one grounded outlet in a room! From his comments about Dana’s apartment I have a feeling Egon would agree with me.

[4]Winston and Egon have a few things in common, first and foremost they’re leg men. Secondarily, they’re into Janine’s legs. Thirdly, baseball.

[5]You need to read this line like Madeline Kahn from Young Frankenstein. Start watching [this clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E81ICJywqwg)at about the 10 second mark and you’ll see what I mean.

[6]When originally thinking of what languages Egon might speak or be familiar with my mind immediately went to the classics – Latin, German, maybe Sumerian given Gozer’s origins. Then I read an excellent story on fanfiction.net by Julia451 called [Tongue Tied](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10816589/1/Tongue-Tied). It featured Real Ghostbusters Egon and Janine using sign language and was really cool, so now I think Egon speaks fluent German, reads Latin and Sumerian and knows ASL.

Regarding Egon and German – cuz I’ve thought about this. This headcanon comes in part from the fact that I’m marrying a man from southern Germany and have been trying to learn German myself for over a year, so I can theoretically, sorta, maybe talk to his family. It’s not going well. German is an evil language and the dialects are awful. Swabish in particular, which is the dialect he and his family speak is like the Scots accent in Trainspotting compared to English but then in GERMAN. I digress. More significant to Egon’s character is the _Malleus Maleficarum_ , or the Hammer of Witches, which was written in 1486/7 by Hienrich Kramer. Later editions also had the name Jacob Sprenger (sometimes seen as Spengler) added. Sprenger’s name was added to give the text credibility as he was well regarded as an authority in parts of Germany. Looking at an old copy of the Malleus it looked like it was written by Kramer and Spengler and I went A-HA! Egon’s descended from an expert on witches. (A friend and colleague of mine who studies witchcraft and religion in the Early Modern period has disabused me of most of what this head canon entailed but YOLO). Anyway, so Egon is related to one of the co-authors of the _Malleus_ , I also imagine him taking some time after graduation to be a visiting research faculty member at the University of Tübingen– doing research on demonology. So, of course, he speaks fluent Germany. If you ever get a chance Tübingenis an absolutely beautiful city and campus. [Pictures available on my tumblr](http://parrottgal.tumblr.com/post/174165185820/if-chapter-11-of-bell-book-and-candle-stays-in).

According to IDW comics as well as the Real Ghostbusters, I’m told, Egon speaks fluent German, knows Swedish, can pass in Icelandic, can talk to trolls, and knows like Sumerian and Latin.

[7]I 1000% made up that article title knowing literally nothing about Egyptology or Classical studies. I picked the title because I wanted something that would allow me to make a Hercule Poirot reference.

[8]It’s just we’re putting new coversheets on all the TPS reports before they go out now. So, if you could go ahead and try to remember to do that from now on, that’d be great.

[9]Fight me. Ancient Aliens pisses me off so badly, not only as a historian but as a person with basic logic and reasoning skills. For a number of reasons, I think it’s total bullshit, but one in particular that drives me nuts is how AA is deeply, deeply invested in the American Exceptionalism myth to a completely asinine degree. Ancient Aliens saved Washington DC from being completely burned to the ground in the War of 1812 because they knew that only America could bring democracy to the world.  Fuck. That. Noise. OMFG.

[10]While I think it’s canon that Winston was hired because he was the only one who applied for the job and they were shorthanded I do have this budding head cannon that actually several people applied for the job. Janine interviewed all of them and all of them sucked for one reason or another. They were kranks, they were creeps, they were generally unqualified, you name it. They guys, on a busting blitz, more or left it to her who they should hire. So, she lets them know someone’s applied but until Winston no candidates meet her standard. But Winston does, he’s chill, he’s not creepy, his resume isn’t shit. He’s the first candidate she bothers introducing them to, which is why Ray then hires him on the spot. He’s gunna trust Neene on this one. And Janine, being a little bit psychic – all the women in her family are – has a good feeling about him.

[11]I didn’t spend six years in evil medical school to be called, “mister”, thank you very much.

[12]The Pichot-Ballinger Controversy, also known as the Ballinger Affair is an early 20thcentury American political controversy that is rarely discussed today outside of (my) lectures on the progressive era. In a nutshell, William H. Taft appointed Richard A. Ballinger the Secretary of the Interior. He was not, however the official decorator, the secretary of the interior is responsible for the conservation and management of federal lands and natural resources. Within weeks of his appointment in 1909 Ballinger restored nearly three million acres of land the government had recently acquired to private use. This, along with a few other decisions, convinced Gifford Pinchot, who was the head of the U.S. Forestry Service and a conservationist that Ballinger was against the cause of conservation and was actually siding with companies interested in exploiting America’s natural resources, primarily in the west. Pinchot accused Ballinger of such motives, kicking off a scandal and investigations. Pinchot was fired, and Ballinger was investigated by the House of Representatives and eventually cleared of any actual misdeeds. Theodore Roosevelt, who had been president before Taft and had not only appointed Pinchot and the man Ballinger replaced as Secretary of the Interior but was also a good friend of Pinchot’s, as well as a conservationist. Roosevelt was so disgusted and annoyed with Taft that he decided to run for president a third time in 1912. He had been elected once as a Republican and when he ran again he and Taft actually split the party. Roosevelt’s supporters eventually formed their own, short lived Party known as the Progressives, or more famously the Bull-Moose Party. I realize this was not a nutshell. Unless that nut was 35 feet long and weighing approximately 600 pounds.

[13]For the longest time I thought heavy water was like one of those brain teasers that was like which one is heavier 600 pounds of bricks or 600 pounds of feathers and you were supposed to say they both weight 600 pounds. But no, Heavy water is a thing, it’s water in which the hydrogen in the molecules is partly or wholly replaced by the isotope deuterium, used especially as a moderator in nuclear reactors.

[14]Winston Cigarettes are made by ITG Brands and are manufactured by the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, as are Camel cigarettes. Winston cigarettes were the most popular cigarettes in America before the 1970s when Marlboro took the top spot. Winston, starting in the 1970s, were explicitly marketed toward African Americans, their ads appearing in periodicals such as _Ebony_ magazine. As for pontificating about Camels, I know very little, other than those are what my Aunt smokes.

[15]Across the different media styles of ghostbusters (IDW, cartoon, etc.) there seems to be differences over which branch of the military Winston was in. I just sorta picked the Marines early on as I was thinking through this story and I’m now just trying to keep consistent within my own little universe.

[16]Janine is Egon’s 42.


	13. XII

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ghostbusters; else Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

** XII **[1]** **

“Would you like some help Dr. Spengler?” Egon looked up from the proton pack he was adapting to find Janine standing in the doorway, slim hand shielding her gaze from the beam the light on his forehead shone directly into her eyes.

“Help?” he repeated. She took a few steps into the messy lab, pausing at the end of the workbench that dominated room with its massive size and mountain of odds and ends. Janine steadfastly refused to leave the firehouse, even after her contracted hours, until everyone was back from their last bust. No matter how often Peter reminded her she wasn’t getting overtime and Ray assured her they would be just fine.

“I’ve caught up on the filing, have done the accounting, put the phones on the answering machine and I finished my book. I need something to do.” He watched her slim fingers tinker with the hardware sprawled beside him. She needed mental stimulation, he could identify with that.[2]

“You wouldn’t happen to have an Electrical Engineering degree, would you?” he asked, she gave him a half smile and pulled a stool up beside him, wordlessly removing the flashlight headband and holding it over the wiring, leaning in close to provide the most accurate illumination possible. He watched her actions and felt a very nonscientific flutter.

“Nope, but I am an A number one Beer Girl.”

“Antics befitting Delta House hardly seem germane to the situation.” He replied flatly, her knees brushed his thigh as he turned back to the proton pack, her perfume, faint and fresh, toyed with him. Scent, studies had shown triggered hormone surges in men and despite all rumors to the contrary Egon Spengler was a living, breathing male.

“I was referring to my old man,” She said, ignoring his college crack. “Pop was handy – handier than the Super, he always was fixing things for everybody. He’d come home after his beat and always had a project – always. He tinkered, he fixed, and he’d make me help. ‘Janine,’” She dropped he voice several octaves in an apparent impersonation of her father, that or Bea Arthur was her sire. She was a laughably poor impersonator, her Brooklyn lit sounded strange, “’hold the light. Janine, fetch me this, get me that, see if the light turns on.’ I gopher-ed for him, whatever he needed me to do I did, and at the end of the project he’d look at me and say ‘Janine, go get me a beer.’ And I’d go to the fridge – get him a beer, me a Coke and we’d sit and admire our handy work.”

Egon looked at his secretary, trying to decide how to catalogue this new information. His mind gave him no immediate, clear answer so he buried and suppressed – a preferred technique of his when dealing with things remotely akin to feelings. Egon pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“Would you hand me the tweezers, please, Janine?” he said, fully turning to his work. She smirked.

“Sure thing Dr. Spengler.”

The companionable silence in which they worked was only occasionally punctured by his request for an instrument or her question. Though she did not fully understand the science she did appreciate his work, and she made an effort to at least grasp the gist of the proton pack. She was willing to learn – about his work and about him. It had taken Venkman months of sharing an office to make such efforts, and even then it seemed as if he began their friendship against his will. Ms. Melnitz extending the olive branch had him impressed, and Egon Spengler did not impress easily, at least not when it came to people, he was too cynical for that. But there was something about Janine Melnitz that had him enthralled, they had little in common, yet he found himself captivated by the small, sassy secretary. Logic – not as prevalent as one would like.

Janine watched his long fingers carefully work with the wires of his machine. He had great hands. Pretty great butt too. And of course genius in spades. He was as dry as he was smart and as mysterious as the far side of the moon. She just had to know if he was as cold as that distant planet or if his aloof demeanor was some sort of a façade. There had been hints, little teasing glimpses but nothing that couldn’t also have been her imagination. Elizabeth Bennett had thought Darcy was an iceberg and then he’d opened up, becoming one of the best men she’d ever known. Janine wanted to be the one to see Dr. Egon Spengler bloom.

“Janine,” Spengler said, laying aside his tools.

“Go getcha a beer?”

“I was going to ask for a Coke, but the principle is the same, yes, thank you.” Janine smiled and Egon felt his features soften, he never smiled, but the twist of her full lips was infections. She was no vacant Colgate commercial either; making the grin she gave him all the more beautiful.

Beautiful. He was not a man of such adjectives, they were imprecise and subjective, but at the moment they were the only words he could think of. She gracefully left the lab, her hips swaying with her steps; his dark eyes followed them until she rounded the corner out of his sight. Spengler shook his head and turned his attention back to his work where it belonged. With a self deprecating smirk he looked at the plug, then the socket.

“Well, here goes nothing.” He said and plugged in. There was a beat and then _Neewoorm._ All went black.

“Shit.”

A clatter of mass on wood and a yelp of pain reminded Egon that Janine had been on the stairs when the power went out. Groping for the headlight she’d sat beside the pack he sprang from the lab to check on the auburn haired secretary.

“Janine!” he called, “Are you alright?” A pause and then a slurred,

“Yest.” Long legs carried him up the stairs, half way up the flight he found her in a seated position, left hand covering her mouth and nose.

“What teh hell happ’nd?” she asked, her reading glasses askew. Egon put the light on and knelt on the stairs beside her, large hand trying to pull her smaller one away so he could examine her face. She resisted slightly, stubborn even when receiving help.

“Charging the proton pack seems to have overtaxed the system and blown a fuse.” He said tugging her hand away forcefully. He hissed. Blood was dripping down her chin; her nose was bleeding as was her mouth, thanks in no small part to which appeared to her upper teeth making it half way through her lower lip. The power cutting out must’ve caused her to trip. Her sprightly features were not suited for blood he decided as his stomach clenched and his heart metaphorically wrenched at the sight.

“You’re injured,” he said with a note of concern in his voice. “Let me look at you, come up to the bathroom. Did you injure anything else in your fall?” He was still holding her left hand and he used it to help her to her feet and led her safely upstairs to the ‘house’ part of the firehouse. He casually noted that due to their drastic difference in height he her hand seemed to fit perfectly in his. He rejected all symbolic meaning of this fact with a reminder that with nearly a foot of difference between their heights this was a natural, logical result of proportions.

Spengler was glad it was pitch black in the bathroom, four single men sharing a bathroom was a scary sight, nearly animalistic. Before he offered her a seat he first checked that both the seat and lid were down and any underwear lying about was out of the glow of his light. Rinsing his hands with rubbing alcohol Egon knelt at Janine’s feet, taking her face in his large hands, gently turning it this way and that as he studied her features and her injuries. Her narrow nose was bloody and her full lower lip split, but aside from those marks she had no other injuries and did not appear concussed. His fingers ghosted over her face, carefully removing the over large glasses, her hazel eyes widening, glittering as she watched him. _Undoubtedly results of having the work light in her face_ he surmised reaching for a cloth to clean her with.

“You won’t need stitches,” he told her seriously, “nor is your nose broken.” Not exactly romantic but Janine didn’t much care, the way he was treating her, as if she were made of glass, had her all gooey on the inside. _Ha. He is warm-blooded._ She thought to herself. His dexterous fingers lifted her glasses and placed them on the counter beside them, he cupped her chin in one large hand. _He’s only looking for injuries; he’s only looking for injuries._ She told herself repeatedly, each time with more emphasis than the last. Yet she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, smell the mix of Irish Spring Soap, iron and laundry sheets that was uniquely him. Just a few inches and he’d be kissing her. Janine tried to swallow her thoughts without betraying anything in the features he was so keenly studying.

She gasped as he dabbed the blood away, hand lingering on her lips where a bandage would not adhere but the bleeding needed to be stopped. He winced at the sound of her sharp intake of breath; he’d not meant to hurt her.

“Sorry,” he said softly, “Ice will prevent this from swelling.” He took her hand again, fingers lacing with hers as he led her to the kitchen.

“Be careful with the fridge, Egon, we don’t want to have to throw everything out.” She said, Brooklyn lit bossy yet appealing as she said his given name.

“A full freezer will remain at proper temperature for up to 48 hours.” He replied wrapping a bag of frozen lima beans in a dish towel. The frozen beans seemed to have been purchased for the sole purpose of being an icepack, four single men were not inclined to cook, and certainly not interested in the green vegetables. Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the makeshift icepack.[3]Egon shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to look out the window.

Dark.

The whole neighborhood was dark, nary a streetlamp or window punctured the fall evening.

“It appears as if the proton pack absorbed more than our power. All of New York appears to be without.” Janine approached him, standing close to see out the small kitchen window. She brushed against him, shampoo and soft gardenia perfume clouding his senses momentarily. Clouded them to the point that when she looked up at him he seriously entertained the idea of kissing her, however the bag and question on her lips prevented him from behaving so rashly.

“You weren’t around in say, 1977, were you?”[4]

An hour later found Janine and Egon on the roof, cans of Coke in hand, admiring his handiwork. They had spent a good twenty minutes in the kitchen as Janine kept the makeshift ice on her lip and Egon desperately applied himself to understanding the problem and finding the solution, troubleshooting for next time kept his mind engaged and did not allow wayward thoughts about his companion distract him.

“Breathtaking.” She whispered looking out across the inky skyline. The stars shining above were like nothing she’d ever seen before, born and raised in the city the sky had always been drowned out by the land, the skyline brighter than the stars. Except for tonight, tonight the stars were out in their multitudes, the moon reflecting in her wide hazel eyes. The celestial body reflecting in her amazed, curious gaze made his breath hitch.

“Y-yes.” He said softly, the October wind whipping around them both. She raised her can.[5]

“Here’s to breaking New York.” The dryness of his mouth was remedied with her levity. He smirked and clinked rims with her.

Janine shivered, and it wasn’t because of the weather. He stood so close that his sent enveloped her the way she girlishly wished his arms would, she could feel his considerable warmth through her jacket. His dark eyes took in all before him, they were intense and when they turned to her she faltered. They managed to strike her, breaking through the carefully constructed, meticulously maintained Brooklyn façade she’d erected around herself. She cracked a joke; it was what she did, deflected with humor. The thin corner of his mouth turned up in an amused manner. Smirking seemed to be what he did. And when he did, it made her melt.

“I didn’t actually break New York, the proton pack overloaded a transistor.” He replied flatly. She gave him a look. The wind howled around them both and Janine shivered, her arms winding around herself in attempt to keep her core temperature at its normal level. He watched the gabardine of her coat ripple under her red tipped fingers.

“Let’s go back inside, you’re shivering.” He said matter of fact, putting an arm around her narrow shoulders and ushering her back inside. She paused at the door, looking over his tweed covered arm casting an eye over the darkened New York skyline before looking up at the sky, seeing the stars one last time. Turning back to the door Egon saw Janine smile.

“That was Ray,” Janine said as she hung up, “he and Winston are sitting in traffic, it’s a mess out there without lights.” They had moved into the kitchen after marveling at a completely black New York skyline. Spengler was lighting candles, her announcement causing him to pause, the match nipping at his fingertips.

“You weren’t planning on going home were you?” his dark brows knitting together in concern. She shook her head.

“I wasn’t planning on it until I knew how the city would react. That and I take the tube, subway doesn’t run without power.” He nodded, a feeling of relief taking him. He had not liked the idea of her leaving, disappearing into a city without power, it wasn’t safe.

“Good,” he said, “Your….ah… safety is imperative to…the Ghostbusters.” He’s almost said ‘me’; the word has just popped into his head and nearly out of his mouth. She was so delicate, especially when he could still see her bleeding on the steps. _Like a wounded…angel_. His mind completed that phase automatically. Angel. He didn’t believe in angels. Dr. Egon Spengler believed in ghosts because he’d seen evidence of ghosts, tangible, recordable evidence. Angels on the other hand; ‘A spiritual being superior to man in power and intelligence’, he’d seen no evidence for them, save as white robed figures in Renaissance art. Faith was not science; the use of the word angel to describe a physically attractive woman was just another illogical use of the English language. Another unscientific adjective he had used. _Crumbs_.

“Oh… that’s sweet.” Janine said, her accent making it difficult for him to detect if she was in earnest or jest, no one treaded that line better than Ms. Melnitz, not even Venkman with all his snark and charm. His stern features were softened by the candlelight, as was her resolve not to build romantic novels from technical journals. This was an accident not a romantic interlude, even if he was extremely distinguished looking in that moment, handsome – smart and caring too. Just so damn conservative with his emotions. Hell with everything save sarcasm and need to know information.

“Hardly, we’d never find another secretary who would put up with our shenanigans.” A smirk. “The sofa in the living room makes into a bed, I would offer you my bed and take the couch but Peter snores.”

“Very chivalrous of you,” and it was, the very thought had Janine’s inside fluttering; she was a sucker for that kind of stuff.  A working class girl from Brooklyn always dreamed of being treated like a genteel lady. “But even if Dr. V didn’t snore I wouldn’t let you take the sofa, you’d never fit.” She looked him over heel to hair for emphasis. He looked her over as well, the way she stood her ground, her quick wit, she seemed so much larger than she was, by candlelight he was reminded of just how petite she was in reality. Egon was going to have to have a nice long chat with himself once the blackout was over.

For dinner they played grab-bag in the refrigerator, coming up with a feast of cold Chicago style pizza and canned whip cream.

“So,” Janine said making small talk in between hits from the spray can of ReddiWip, “Where were you when the lights went out?” Egon looked at her.

“In the lab.” He thought he saw her flush but the candles made her glow so it was hard to be sure.

“That was stupid, okay; I forgot that the lights have now gone out on Broadway twice. New Yorkers used to ask where you were when the lights when out when they talked about the blackout in the summer of ’77.”

“I see, in 1977 I was in Southern California, finishing up some loose ends with my second Post-Doctoral from Columbia. Incidentally I met Peter at Columbia; we shared an office during graduate school.” At thirteen Egon had graduated high school, at sixteen when most kids received cars Egon received his undergraduate degree from MIT, at twenty he had a PhD from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. At twenty-four Harvard had given him a Doctorate as well and he moved on to Columbia. He’d gotten his PhD from Columbia at twenty-eight and then had done two Post-Docs. The Spenglers were a long, noble line of scholars and scientists and none of them were allowed to forget it.

“Get out,” Janine exclaimed, her usual droll personality usurped by true and utter surprise. “Second Post-Doc? So by 1977 you had been through a regular PhD program and two post-doctoral programs?”

“Actually I have three PhDs and have done two post-docs.” He said flatly, he was proud of his contributions to science and academia but didn’t want to flaunt his credentials. Janine choked a little, she pounded her chest for a moment as she stared at him, the candlelight reflecting off her glasses.

“How old are you?! Three PhDs? Those don’t just grow on trees.”[6]

“I have just turned forty.”

“You have three PhDs before 1977? Math was never my strong suit but that doesn’t add up.” It was still strange to him how people did not have similar educational experiences, how they thought he was abnormal - in his family he was considered a late bloomer.

“I entered university at thirteen which is average in my family. My parents were proponents of education.”

“And opponents of childhood at thirteen I’d just gotten out of PS 46, I didn’t even have a training bra yet and you’re saying you had a degree?” Fiddling with the napkin in his lap Egon suddenly felt uncomfortable, something that rarely happened, especially when discussing education. He cleared his throat.

“Well, yes…” pause. He racked his impressive mind for a diversion, a topic change of some sort. “What about yourself, where were you when the lights went out… in 1977.” She felt a little guilty for teasing him, more than likely the choice hadn’t been his. She felt sorry for him; poor man had missed out on his childhood and the plethora of joy and sorrow it provided. She also felt that he was adorable flustered - younger, more venerable, less of a mind and more of a man. _Janine_ she scolded herself.

“Let’s see,” she said sipping her cola. “1977, I was twenty five, working in the chamber of commerce. At approximately 8:34 pm July 13th, 1977 the lights went out over New York. I was in the elevator between the third and fourth floor, I used to nanny for this family a few blocks from my apartment, my mom and Mrs. Delgado ate lunch together every day, Ma was a court reporter and Mrs. D was a secretary for the ADA. She had two sons, Frankie and Tommy, eight and ten, sweet kids, if a bit rambunctious. Mr. and Mrs. D had just gotten back from a movie – _The Spy who Loved Me_ \- it was their fifteenth anniversary, why I remember that I don’t know.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder and ate some of the cold deep-dish pizza, sauce clinging to the side of her mouth.  Egon watched it, fingers itching to wipe it away, and not just because he was fastidious about that sort of thing. “I was on my way home when the elevator died. I was stuck in that box for a good hour before Ma called the Delgados, I’d always walk, it was only like three blocks and my mother was always on _shpilkes_ about that sort of things because three blocks can still be pretty dangerous if you’re out alone at night, so I’d call before I’d leave the apartment so Ma knew I’d left and then I’d call her again when I got to my apartment, when I was late Ma called absolutely hysterical.[7]I’d been screaming forever when Mr. D and the Super finally found me. It was awful, to this day I cannot ride in an elevator – I take the stairs, I don’t care how many flights, I just can’t ride in one of those cans again.” She shuttered at the memory, she’d truly thought she was going to die in that elevator. She could handle crowds, and the subway didn’t bother her, but getting in an elevator did. Even the thought of it put her in a cold sweat; she could feel the walls closing in on her. She wiped her mouth and removed the torture of marinara sauce. Egon let out the breath he’d not known he was holding.

**X**

“Nothing’s on fire yet,” Winston announced, he was another veteran of the ‘Night of Terror’ the not so affectionate nickname people had for the ’77 blackout. “Streets are a hot mess though.” 42ndstreet had been so backed up that Ray had been able to duck into a bodega that had a generator and buy coolers and ice before the cars moved an inch.

“Give it time.” Janine deadpanned. The city had been in crisis in the 1970s, fueling the violence that had given the blackout the name ‘The Night of Terror’, seven years later not a lot had changed, especially not for the better.

“Where’s Venkman?” Ray asked as the loaded the perishables into the portable iceboxes. Spengler and Melnitz exchanged looks; the fact Peter hadn’t shown up or checked in had completely escaped them.

“He was going downtown last I knew,” Janine said trying to remember when she last saw the annoying psychologist. “He thinks you guys need a theme song, he was going to meet with some music people.” The three other Ghostbusters rolled their eyes in unison. Venkman was still trying to pitch them as a Saturday Morning Cartoon.

Then a metaphorical light bulb went off.

“If Peter went downtown and Winston and I had the car, he could’ve taken the subway.” Ray said putting two and two together and groaning.

“God, he’s stuck on the train.” Janine said, the elevator had been bad enough but being trapped under New York with a car full of people, probably hysterical people – he had her beat.

“He is going to be so pissed when he gets back.”

Winston’s prediction was half correct, after nearly three hours stuck between the stations waiting for a crew to rescue him and then another hour and a half dodging traffic Peter Venkman was livid, but too exhausted to do much about it. He didn’t even notice his favorite snarking-post, Janine, sitting next to the cooler as he grabbed a beer, lit a cigarette and went on a rant before stalking off to bed.

It was somewhere between nine and ten when the rest of the crew gave up the ghost and decided to turn in for the night. They’d played cards, swopped bullshit stories and killed off a lot of the perishable food, but eventually it was pitch black and they were out of ideas.

“I…um… brought you something to sleep in.” Egon said awkwardly handing Janine a set of flannel tartan pajamas – his pajamas, and a pair of woolen socks. Janine could not but smile at his thoughtfulness.

“Thank you Dr. Spengler.” She said softly, her hands, cool and smooth, brushed against his as she accepted the clothing. He shifted slightly under her smile, jamming his hands in his trousers pockets, palms sweaty.

“I’ve also run a cord from the containment grid’s generator to a space heater; the temperature will only drop further tonight. There are also extra blankets on the chair,” he nodded to the pile of every human sized swath of fabric in the firehouse as found by Ray, it included their bathrobes and a few fluffy towels.[8]Fall was an unkind season. She was still going to get cold Spengler knew, the temperature in the firehouse had already gotten cooler from when the power had been. In the back of his mind he remembered and rejected the practice of sleeping with dogs and other mammals utilized by the Indigenous Australians and other Native peoples in order to preserve body heat. Sharing a bed with Janine would be… bad. Bad in the crossed streams sense of the word.

“I was wondering what would happen to the containment unit without power, nothing had blown up so I assumed you had everything under control.” Her shop talk kept the fuzzy feeling at bay, though it did pique something else – his interest - she remembered the grid.

“Part of the containment unit’s design features its own power source, in case of situations such as this. Most of the generator’s power is needed to maintain the proton field, but a space heater will not interfere with its primary function. The only way to turn it off completely is to throw the switch on the main unit.” She nodded.

“I knew you had everything under control.” They looked at each other for a moment before Janine picked up a flashlight and gestured to the bundle of clothing in her arms. “Well, I’m going to go change. Thank you again, Egon. Good night.” She turned and ducked into the bathroom. He watched her go.

“Good night.” He said softly.

Egon went to bed but did not sleep well; the petite secretary in his flannels and socks asleep on the sofa and the properties of body heat running through his head ensured that he was in for a long, hard night.[9]

**X**

The next morning dawned chilly and powerless. Spengler woke early and spent a good five minutes wondering why. And then slowly his mind focused in a way his eyes without glasses did not.

Janine helping with the lab work…plugging in the proton pack…the blackout…Janine falling… dinner… the stars… stories… Ray and Winston…. Peter getting stuck in the subway…Janine asleep on the sofa – in his clothing. The sun through the windows told him the hour, the sound of water boiling told him someone else was awake, the three lumps and roar of nasal problems told him who was not. Egon fumbled for his glasses and slipped out of bed, hissing as his size fourteen feet hit the floor, there was a definite chill in the air. He shuffled to the small kitchen, he had been correct in predicting the temperature dropping, and then stopped cold.

Janine stood facing the stove, her back to the doorway where Egon came to stand, needing a moment’s pause to take in her appearance and presence. She had his woolen socks pulled up to nearly her knee. The top of her left foot was employed in rubbing the back of her right leg, the darkness of the sock contrasting with the cream of her skin. The flannel top of the Pajama set hung off of her like a bag, falling to mid-thigh. The sight of her bare legs had him mesmerized. Reason explained her lack of trousers by pointing out how if his shirt was that large on her the pants would have been even more excessive, the irrational part of his brain, what some would refer to as the masculine part or small brain, simply repeated over and over again _She’s not wearing any pants, she’s not wearing any pants._ Egon cleared his throat, the sound, mainly directed at himself as reprimand, made Janine jump. She turned to look at him, lips parted, eyes wide.

“Oh, Dr. Spengler.” She said putting a hand to her chest; he noted that the neckline that hit him just below the clavicle was much deeper on her. With her hair mussed and eyes heavy lidded from sleep it looked like a morning after scene – it felt like a morning after scene. He had to remind himself and his _schwanzstucker_ that it was NOT a morning after scene.[10]

“Good Morning,” he said, hoping that the froggy tone in his voice could pass as dryness from sleep and not the intimacy that he acutely felt standing in his pajamas in front of his secretary, who was also in his pajamas. “I see the power hasn’t turned back on.” But he was _goddamnit_. He was a victim of mythos he decided, the idea that a man should love and pay court to a small, delicate woman – fragile and in need of his protection, was completely robbing him of his senses. He was a Spengler he had a duty to science not secretaries. He was a nerd not a knight-errant. He should not be so damn attracted to her.

“No, but the water and stove are working alright, so I thought I’d make some tea,” she gestured to the old fashioned kettle on the burner, a box of Darjeeling tea on the counter. “I hope you don’t mind.”  

“Only if you don’t share.” _Damn, that was flirtatious._ Egon chide himself. _Listen here, Spengler you are not to pay her any more attention, no flirting, not even the time of day. Distance yourself; you have a job to do._ He sat and crossed his legs; the more he thought about his particular romantic problem the more it persisted, rather like an erection. He needed neither. She smiled and turned back to the kettle.

Janine stared hard at the old teapot, when Star Wars first came out she used to pretend she was a Jedi and will things to happen. If she had been eighteen again she’d be willing the water to boil; now she was willing herself to get a grip. She centered her breathing and focused all of her energies on ignoring the man sitting at the table, the weak autumnal sun bathing them both in the soft lighting more befitting a TV movie. She was his _secretary_ , her mind screamed at her heart. She was not to be attracted to him; they’re barely even friends. And now here she was, acting the waif, grand drama going on in her head. This was her life not some Harlequin. Cool, calm, collected, congenial. These were the adjectives she needed to be. She felt like she was throwing herself at him, and that was a cardinal sin among the Melnitz family, the biggest - right after never date a guy who smells better than you do.[11]But what could she do, her heart countered; he was tall, dark, smart, andJewish. He made her laugh. He was a doctor. Everything she’d asked for in the past.

_No no no_ her mind shouted. _Yes yes yes_ said her heart.

_No_

_Yes_

_No_

_Yes_

The steam billowing from the S-shaped spout made her momentarily confused. But she recovered quickly, relieved that the hyper observant Dr. Spengler couldn’t see through bodies and therefore was none the wiser in regards to her distraction. A deep breath to fortify her and reinforce the plan – cool, calm, and collected, Janine turned.

“Mugs?” she asked, Spengler looked up from cleaning his glasses on the tail of his shirt.

“Cupboard to your right.” He said, nodding to the cheap painted pine cabinet. Janine turned to it and opened the door. Plates, tumblers… she looked up. The mugs were indeed in the stated place, but well out of her reach. She tried anyway. Her entire family was short, it wasn’t until she got out into the real world did she notice that she was small. She defiantly noticed now. Four men lived here, four tall men, the dishes were arranged accordingly. Standing on tiptoe did no good.

“Um… Dr. Spengler?” she said looking over her shoulder at him.

“-gler?” her voice cut into his mind like a knife, jolting him from the daydream he was having where he sat as her (his) shirt slid up her legs showing more and more of her pale smooth thigh and round bottom. His ears burning scarlet with embarrassment he turned his eyes to her face, peeking over her should as she looked back at him, her arm raised, fingers stretching but not reaching the mugs on the top shelf of the cupboard. The discrepancy between her personality and her posture highlighted once again.

“Little help?” She asked dryly, lowering from en pointe. Egon stood and took the ten paces required to cross to her. One hand on the counter with the other he reached up and over her, taking down two mugs and setting them on the counter. Boxing her in. She was trapped between the counter and him, his hands on either side of her. Slowly she turned to look up at him, their feet brushing on the cold checked linoleum. He looked down at her; they were so close he could see how his breath made her hair flutter. For his part Egon Spengler was frozen, how he’d done it he didn’t know, but he didn’t particularly feel like moving. Unless it was of course to get closer, he could feel the muscles in his neck stop supporting the upright position of his head, he was tilting to the right. Her eyes were flicking over his face, beneath her lashes he could see them focus on his lips, which was exactly where his eyes went. Full…. Parted… even his rational brain was silent and allowing the moment to happen, for once he wasn’t thinking. Her eyes fluttered shut, and with her glasses out of the way instinct had the green light.

_He was going to kiss her, he was going to kiss her, he was going to kiss her._ The little voice in her head was hyperventilating but on the outside she was cool, calm and collected. _Not exactly what you meant, but what the hell._ The snide part of her got the last words in before her mind went completely, utterly, blissfully blank with anticipation. Her head drifted to the right, her eyes closed, she was going to let it happen.

_Scooby-Dooby-Doo, where are you/ you’re ready and you're willing/ if we can count on you/ Scooby-Doo, I know you’ll catch that villain..._

The power came back on with a vengeance, TV blasting Saturday morning cartoons making both Egon and Janine jump, their heads smacking together. Both swore, pulling away, Janine rubbing her forehead, Egon his jaw.

“Are you alright?” she asked worriedly, Egon nodded.

“You?”

“Fine, I’ve got a hard head.” Last night they had gone through and turned off any lights they thought were on in case the power came on in the middle of the night they weren’t disturbed. Someone had turned the TV _on_ by mistake. Janine used to love Scooby – Doo as a child. Not anymore. The moment they had shared now completely killed Janine turned her attention to the still steaming kettle and prepared two mugs of tea, one in a Columbia mug, the other MIT.

“Hey, it’s Scooby – Doo!” Ray exclaimed entering the open Kitchen/ Living room and plopping down in a battered upholstered chair. He’d always been a morning person. Following behind him was Winston, a little more subdued.

“Looks like the power’s back,” he yawned.

“Indeed.” Egon said, retreating to the far corner of the kitchen, Janine had taken her tea into the living room where she sat it next to her glasses as she began to straighten up her makeshift bed, both of their minds reliving and reaming themselves for the past few minutes.

_Spengler!_ Egon lectured himself, his mind adopting his father’s harsh tone; it drove the points with more force than if his own voice had spoken to him. Darwin Spengler’s word was law and he was in Egon’s head reminding him of that fact. _Emotions are messy. They have no place in logical, they subvert rational thought, living a life ruled by emotions is fallacious. Emotions make us believe things because we wish them to be true and not because they are, they move us to make decisions to act stupidly because emotions prevent us from thinking._

_Love, love most of all is a ridiculous, pitiable state. Love is a chemical imbalance in the brain. Not saying I don’t like and respect your mother, but marriage needs to be founded on more than love, reason, reason should dictate who you take as a life partner. Your beliefs must be in alignment, you need to have similar educations,backgrounds. Mutual esteem. And she must be mentally and physically stimulating. Childrearing is also crucial. None of these factors are brought to mind when you *feel* instead of *think*. You are a scientist, Egon; don’t throw that way for some secretary no matter her humor, no matter her legs. Don’t disappoint the family, do not led the name Spengler into folly over some fallacy, some dalliance! **[12]**_

Janine folded her sheets hostilely. _Janine Renee Melnitz_ whenever she needed a good talking to her mother slipped into her mind, Brooklyn accent thicker than her own. If there was ever a quintessential Jewish mother Janine was pretty sure that it was hers. _What are you thinking, have some pride! He’s your boss, don’t be that girl. Don’t be stupid. He’s too preoccupied with his work to have any interest in perusing a relationship with you; didn’t he make that clear when he told you he collects fungus? Men don’t say things to women when they care about their opinion of them. Don’t go pinning your hopes on this guy, he’s a cold fish, you’ll be pinning forever. Forget about him; go find yourself a nice Jewish boy who actually looks at you like you’re a woman. But don’t go throwing yourself at him; no daughter of mine is a damsel in distress!_

Janine finished picking up her bed, the mug of tea and two episodes of _Scooby Doo, Where Are You?_ before Peter Venkman decided to stumble out and meet the day. He stalked past her as she spoke with Winston on how shower time at the firehouse usually went – First come, first serve - lord help the last man there was never enough hot water. Egon, who was still sulking in his corner, smirked dryly, he certainly would not need any hot water this morning. He had thought prolonged exposure to the near naked secretary would create a tolerance in him or something like it. It had not, it’d only allowed him more time to find things he found attractive about her. Tiny feet, great legs, round butt, 0.7 hip to waist ratio, narrow shoulders making her chest appear larger, delicate clavicle, elegant neck. Without her glasses he could admire her eyes, which were quite pretty.

Peter, ever the quick study, was able to identify her finest feature in five seconds.

“Damn, Melnitz, you look like a walk of shame. Nice legs though, gotta say, must be the low heel pumps.”

“Peter!” Ray and Winston growled aghast, Egon clenched his jaw, that damn Man – Protector Instinct flaring up again. Janine simply shot him one of those Brooklyn looks, the kind that withered plants and made people quake.

“Careful Dr. V, or I’ll remove your third one.” The men all swallowed hard, that was no idle threat. She gave them all a satisfied smirk before turning back to Winston (who looked a little paler). “I was the first up, may I claim bathroom privileges?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just threatened to castrate one of her bosses.

“Of course, I think there’s even an extra toothbrush in the medicine chest.” Winston said, “I’ll get you some towels.”

“S’alright,” she motioned to the pile of towels and blankets from last night, “so long as these are clean.” And with that she disappeared into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later and one highly amusing rendition of the Foundation’s ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ later Janine emerged from the bathroom dressed in the skirt and shirt she’d worn the day before, Egon’s night shirt draped over her arm. She handed it to him, eyes never leaving a point on his left bicep.

“Thank you again for your hospitality, gentleman… Venkman…. But I think that New York has recovered enough for me to depart from you. I will see you all Monday.” She smiled at them and waved, quickly exiting the firehouse. She needed to get out of there as soon as possible and back to Brooklyn where she could think without _him_ everywhere she turned. Unfortunately, the memory of Egon Spengler was a little stowaway in the back of her mind, popping up at the most inopportune moments.

**X**

Egon turned the shower on, steam from the bather previous still clinging to the mirror and hanging in the air, making his skin damp before he even stepped into the old claw footed tub. It was the same mist that had clung to Janine just moments before. Clung to a naked Janine just moments before. He was standing in the same spot where soap had glided over his naked, wet secretary. His naked, wet, slightly tone deaf secretary. Not only was she sexy she was whimsical. He tried to think of lyrics of his own, but all his mind wanted to do was sing her name. Spengler’s slinky was certainly straightened and no matter what he thought of his mind drifted back to images of the woman who’d been in the shower before him, they mated with memories of the morning and the evening before until he had no other option but to play with his toys.[13]

Egon hadn’t masturbated in years, before it had been so easy to ignore all urges, certainly easy to ignore women, keeping one’s nose permanently wedged down a microscope helped tremendously. But sexually stimulating one’s own genitals was just like riding the metaphorical bicycle. And would probably end the same way – a short, dramatic ride with a crash ending, his only goal was not to break his glasses. A handful of shampoo and his mind drifted, drifted past the near kiss this morning and the way she wore his shirt. Past the leather miniskirt she owned to her first day of work, introducing himself from under her desk as he hooked up her telephone and computer, the first time he saw those legs up close and personal.

_Kneeling under her desk gave him the most inviting view as well as unprecedented access, all it took was one flash of her thigh high stockings for Egon to forget the telephone wiring. His hands sliding up the smooth, shapely nylon clad legs eliciting an encouraging moan from above. Her knees fell open and that was all the invitation he needed, his hands slipped up her skirt to massage the exposed skin at the top of her stockings. Exploring every inch of her his long fingers eventually made contact with the tight, damp curls at the apex of her thighs. She opened for him like a flower in bloom and he went after her like a bee in the spring. His tongue sought her clitoris as his fingers penetrated deep inside._

_“You’re very handy.” She said huskily, the last coherent though she was able to express.  He explored further, his tongue and touch taking turns exploring every part of her. She was close, she was very close, her hands pounding on the wooden desk above him, his name on her lips as he brought her over the cliff. **[14]**_

His release did not receive a proper afterglow.

“Egon! For the love of God, did you drown in there?” The pounding on her desk had actually been the door, and irate sounding Peter hollering on the other side. In case his life couldn’t get any better. Sighing Egon rinsed off and exited the bathroom.

The other men looked at him as he headed through the living room to their shared bunkroom, towel slung around his waist.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Ray asked him, Scooby – Doo was no longer on, which probably explained why the shower was of interest.

“Calculating the viscosity of Herbal Essence.” Spengler replied dryly. The idea that that was a double entendre didn’t even cross the other Ghostbuster’s minds.

* * *

 

[1]This chapter will be familiar to all of you who read the story Blackout on tumblr, posted all the way back in like 2013. It was one of the first things I ever wrote Janine/Egon related, one of those stories that doesn’t leave you alone until it’s on paper. I’ve always vaguely understood it to be a part of Bell, Book, and Candle, though the downside of writing parts out of order is that sometimes they don’t always meet in the middle like you imagine they would. Hopefully this isn’t too disjointed feeling. It really warms my heart and makes me a little emotional to hear how much many of you enjoyed this as a standalone story over on tumblr. Hopefully I haven’t ruined it for you in anyway. It’s still one of my favorites as well.

[2]This chapter, in part, inspired by [the picture of Janine bringing Egon coffee in the lab](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1rMw2UOwto-aPYaNSDQqTNCmzjLr6QmJC/view?usp=sharing).

[3]These are the same beans from chapter 8.

[4]The 1977 New York City black out is fascinating, I think. Fascinating in that 1970s New York Noir sort of way. There were riots and arsons and looting and murders and some crazy pictures of the city as a veritable ghost town. Articles and pictures [here](http://time.com/3949986/1977-blackout-new-york-history/),[here](http://www.businessinsider.com/blackout-new-york-city-40-years-ago-today-what-it-looked-like-2017-7), and [here](https://mashable.com/2015/11/02/nyc-blackout/#4sZpIcLIxsqL).

[5]Update on when the fuck this is taking place. Winston got hired roughly in early September. This story will end sometime close to Halloween of 1984.

[6]No, no they don’t.   
I have a very long, over thought, and complicated timeline or Egon’s life trying to figure out how the hell he has half the degrees and experience he supposedly has. I can sort of make sense of it if he’s like 40 in 1984. RGB strains even my flexible sense of reality by suggesting that he was only in his late 20s in 1984. No. Just no.

[7]Mama Melnitz had every reason to freak out when Janine didn’t make it home in an appropriate time. During the blackout Brooklyn had a particularly rough time, there were like 400 fires in that 25-hour period. Also worth noting, in defense of the landline telephone, even if the main power goes and there’s a blackout the telephone lines have their own power source which means you can use them to make phone calls. My mom freaked when I moved out and didn’t get a landline because, what if there was a blackout?!

_Shpilkes_ – Yiddish, Noun: A state of impatience, agitation, anxiety, or any combination thereof.

[8]Me, over thinking things: If the containment unit has its own generator why doesn’t the firehouse have power?

Me, reasoning with me, without falling back on the MST3k mantra about this being fiction and just relaxing: The containment unit takes up almost all of the generator’s power capabilities, having it run all the lights would be impossible. Egon is willing to risk it for a space heater to warm upstairs because he doesn’t want any of them to get cold, and a space heater isn’t going to overtax the system like the lights would

Me, over thinking things: But-

Me: Repeat to yourself, “it’s just a show, I should really just relax.”  
Me and Me: FOR MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000!

[9]Cough.

[10] _Schwanzstucker_ is the word Inga uses in Young Frankenstein when discussing how the reanimated corpse would need to have enlarged blood vessels and organs. “Woof” “He’s going to be very popular”. I was deeply dismayed when my German fiancée informed me that Schwanzstucker is not a real German word. Schwanz is, that’s the word for penis, but the -stucker is just nonsense. Armin just lives to ruin my fun sometimes.

[11]This is a thing in my family. Let me explain. My cousin, Katie, once dated a guy in college who smelled amazing. He visited us once for Easter and he had more potions and lotions and bottles than my cousin did. And like on the one hand, skincare is self-care and like you go dude, you take care of yourself. But on the other hand, he was one of the most vain, egotistical motherfuckers on the face of the earth. When he and Katie eventually broke up my mother always said she knew it wasn’t going to work because he was so invested in himself. So, in my mother’s sage advice, _don’t date a guy who smells better than you_ , is a short way of saying guys who are super vain and into themselves probably going to be selfish and not treat you right.

[12]Darwin Spengler is a classist, elitist, fucking snob.

[13]I’m up in the air about this euphemism for an erection and masturbation. But I couldn’t resist a callback (call forward?) to Ghostbusters II when Egon talked about how the only toy he had was part of a slinky that he straightened as an experiment.

[14]All I’m saying is that Egon is very into giving oral sex. I will fight anyone who disagrees with this head canon.


End file.
